Tactics
by JustUptownFuckMeUp
Summary: "There's a part of every person that is entertained by the idealistic, the fantastic." M for violence and language. Contains OC.
1. First Move Part I

_All right people, let's get something straight. This is, as of right now, spur-of-the-moment. I have two other stories I need to work on, so this is a Writer's Block Outlet. Free-write. Whatever you wanna call it. But don't think I won't follow up if it gets popular/reviews. Let's just see how things play out, shall we?_

_Listen to: "Psychotic Girl" _by _The Black Keys _

Rain spattered against the water and filth-stained windows of the motel. Every other second the trickling, bubbling currents against the window were lit bright yellow by the flashing neon sign outside. The inside reeked of cigarette smoke and slightly stale clothing, as well as an underlying aroma of cat litter. A lamp was flickering next to an unmade bed next to which a young woman was pacing. She was mostly shadowed in the room. The two shades of yellow light flashed off her features as she walked briskly back and forth. Her face was sharp, almost too sharp to be attractive. Fingers with nails trimmed dangerously short drummed restlessly against her arm. Cheekbones sat high and gaunt on her face. Her pupils were dilated against the low light, pushing her irises into thin rings.

A campy costume was tucked away, below the bed, waiting to be worn. She, along with a number of others, had been swept up in the costumed hero craze. There was some sort of unofficial meeting scheduled to happen, but she wasn't sure whether she wanted to go. Social situations were never a guarantee of success for her—in fact, very much the opposite. Somehow, however, she felt obliged.

For a long time, she had been torn on what name she should choose, at the same time feeling quite foolish. There was something romantic, however, in the idea of fighting crime behind a mask; so she swallowed her pride and thought. Eventually she settled on something simple: Phalanx. Her costume was simple and black, the only distinguishing feature being a belt from which to hang knives or other things. Her mask covered everything but her eyes and resembled an old china doll or Renaissance mask, forever frozen with pursed lips. It was attached to stretchy material that pulled over her whole head.

Donning her close-fitted, soft costume, she slid open the window of the motel. She was sprayed with rain, and she squinted against the bright neon sign as she clambered out the window, crawling down the building and starting off down the street below.

"Well, firstly, let me just say I'm pleased to see so many of you here. Very pleased." She had seen him in the papers over the past few weeks. She couldn't recall his name. Despite his—and he others'—somewhat odd appearance, the guy was right about one thing; there was a surprising amount of people attending. Part of her had wondered if she would be the only one coming. There almost wasn't room to stand close to the obnoxious poster the man had stuck up.

The array of crime fighters stretched to either end of the spectrum. Across from her, the man she recalled as being the Comedian was reading the paper and smoking a cigar. On the other end of the room, a dark-haired woman was clinging possessively to muscular man with blue skin, the latter of whom seemed to be very indifferent. Some costumes were gaudier than others—one man was dressed all in shining gold and a purple cape, and another was in a simple trench coat and fedora. The last man caught her eye—his mask, at least from she was standing, looked like one half of one of those Rorschach tests psychologists used. As she watched, the ink blots seemed to shift and change to make a completely different pattern seconds later. It was mesmerizing to her, like a lava lamp; she found herself ignoring the host's words of greeting. She was snapped out of her reverie when the Comedian spoke up.

"Bullshit." He grumbled, still chewing on the cigar.

"What?" The first man asked.

"I said bullshit. This whole idea, this whole Crimebusters shtick, it stinks."

"Th-that isn't true . . ."

"Uh, listen, let's not throw the idea out right away." She recognized that one immediately—Nite Owl. He was something of a celebrity at this point. "Me and Rorschach have made headway into the gang problem by pooling our efforts . . ."

She was surprised to learn that his name was Rorschach. Hit the nail on the head, apparently. "Obviously, I agree." Rorschach said. "But a group this size seems more like a publicity exercise somehow. Too big and unwieldy."

She didn't bother paying attention to words beyond that point. She was interested in seeing how the rest of the meeting played out. Tensions grew, arguments broke out, and the Comedian burned the poster display. People left after that, trickling out as the failure of the meeting became too painfully clear to ignore. She followed, not exactly knowing where to go. She ended up falling into step next to a girl a little younger than her with brown hair the dangled to her back.

"What now?" She muttered.

"I'm going to go on patrol." The girl answered. "We don't always go in groups, so if you want to go by yourself that's fine too, I think." The brunette followed her gaze to Rorschach, who was almost literally melting back into the shadows.

"What's his problem?" She asked, but she received no response.

"Hey, what can I call you?"

"Hm?"

"You know. Your costume name. Or your actual name, I won't tell."

"Oh. Just call me Phalanx."

The girl held out her hand. Phalanx shook it. "You can just call me Laurie. Hey, that name is pretty catchy."

"Old military strategy. I like to study them."

"Huh." Laurie smiled a bit. "I suppose I'll see you around, then?"

"Yeah." Phalanx was already walking up to the nearest building. "See you around." She jumped slightly, getting a good handhold before pulling herself up the building's side to the roof, heaving herself from windows and misplaced bricks in the mortar. When she reached the top, she stopped and looked up. There was too much light pollution and too many clouds to see any real stars.

Jumping between buildings, it wasn't too hard to find some gang activity below. Depending on how many thugs there were, it could be a challenge. But that was okay. She liked challenges. Hours passed, mostly in boredom. Towards the end of the night, she ended up on the top of some building in the city, she wasn't sure where, just sitting against a chimney and looking down at the street below. The rain had let up, but it was still coming down with no sign of stopping. The water was soaking through her mask and pooling in the bony area between her shoulders and neck in a very irritating way.

She sighed and from her belt pulled her most used knife and a small stone. Sharpening the little knives was monotonous work that was a good way of passing the time. The rhythmic scraping, the satisfyingly sharp edge afterward. A most rewarding experience, in her opinion. As she worked, she noticed a most peculiar stinging on her arm. Glancing down, she muttered in annoyance at the sight of a shallow cut on the outside of her forearm. She put away her knife and clenched her hand around the wound, hissing and cursing the thugs.

She walked to the edge of the building and looked down, clenched her teeth and jumped down to the fire escape on the building opposite. She swung down and landed hard on the ground below, splashing into a puddle of filth. Only when she straightened up again did she realize the folly of her actions. At the end of the alley, the shadows of more knot-tops were flickering over the graffiti-covered brick. She started off to the other end, wincing at a pain in her ankle. She had landed badly off the fire escape. The footsteps behind her increased in speed, as did the catcalls and certainly drunken hollering. She could make out at least five. Knowing she would not be able to avoid a fight at this point, Phalanx stopped, pulling out a couple tiny knives made exclusively to throw.

She stopped walking. The thugs did not. She waited until she could hear individual words before quickly turning and hurling the knives as hard as she could muster. One slammed home, almost directly in one man's collarbone. He let loose a gurgling choke and crumpled. The other knife narrowly missed another thug and instead of injuring him, simply clattered past to bang against the alley walls.

The same man jumped forward, his own short blade glinting, but was stopped short by a palm to his face. She could feel the bones breaking under her hand. The man cried out and stopped, stumbling. She struck him hard across the temple, and he crashed against the brick wall. She stumbled as a fist drove deep into her gut, but reciprocated with a sharp gash across his face. Phalanx, now spattered in fresh blood, held her newly sharpened knife in one hand, keeping her face to her attackers.

"Come on . . ." She hissed. In response to her taunt, another of the five men leapt forward foolishly, clumsily, leaving himself wide open. Almost like she was watching him move in slow motion, she easily stepped forward and pushed the knife into his stomach. He gasped, his mouth open in a wide oval of bad teeth. She swept him to the side as the last man took his place, swinging wildly. She ducked to either side and waited until he got tired before drawing the blade quickly across his cheek, then grabbing his shoulders and driving a knee straight up into his chin.

Tossing the thug aside, she counted the bodies. Three, four. She frowned. She could distinctly that there were _five _men in the alley—

Her thought was cut off as a trail of fire roared across her back from shoulder to hip. She yelled out in pain and fury and spun, seeing that it was in fact the last thug. She raised her knife, ready to end his miserable life, when he froze suddenly. A puzzled expression crossed his face, and they both looked down to see a dull metal point sticking out of his middle. They met gazes again in time for the thug to cough a sharp spray of blood and saliva in her face before he tottered around and collapsed. A few feet behind him, Rorschach was reeling in the grappling hook almost nonchalantly.

"I don't need saving." Phalanx spat, annoyed.

"Hurm. Did not seem like it." Rorschach tucked the grappling hook away in his trench coat.

"I would have had him in a second." She walked past him, blinking away the pain from her back.

"You are injured."

"Excellent deduction, Sherlock." She sneered. "Just back off, I'll be fine." When she glanced over her shoulder, Rorschach was gone. Phalanx walked a few more blocks, taking the most roundabout routes she could find, before reaching the dilapidated motel. Not using the front door for obvious reasons, she climbed up the windows to reach hers and tumbled inside, grimacing. Tearing off her torn costume, she snatched rolls of bandaging from her bedside drawer and began furiously wrapping herself in them. When both her arm and back were covered, she pushed the costume under the bed and crawled on top of the sheets, asleep before her head hit the pillow.


	2. First Move Part II

Listen to_: "In The Cold, Cold Night" _by The White Stripes for the sewing scene, and _"Mausam and Escape" _by A.R. Rahman for the fight.

Hesitant piano chords echoed through the studio. They pieced together carefully to create a halting replication of Beethoven's "Moonlight Sonata". It proceeded well until a sour note sent the entire piece reeling. A young cry of frustration went up and the music stopped.

"Hey, it's okay, Jonathan." The woman comforted the boy at the piano. She glanced at her watch. "Listen, you did very well today. You're becoming almost as good as me! It's about time to go, and your mother should be waiting outside."

"Okay." Jonathan stood and picked up his coat. "Bye, Miss Davis."

"Bye, Jonathan. Have a good weekend." The studio door closed with a click. She looked at Moonlight Sonata again. Jonathan was progressing exceptionally well for a boy his age. He really was getting very good. Jackie turned to face the keys again and drummed her fingers along them absently. She stopped and yawned massively. Four hours of sleep; a new record. Usually it was around two. Yawning again, she picked up her own coat and keys to the studio. She didn't have another lesson for another thirty minutes, and the Gunga Diner was only about a block away. She would have just enough time to get a cup of coffee and get back in time for Samantha.

She locked the door behind her, went down a set of stairs and out to the street. Jackie squinted up at the sun and down at her watch again as she walked. Her daily intake of caffeine could not possibly be healthy, and she was starting to hit the side effects. She was getting jumpy. She wanted to keep her senses clear but with such a great intake of the drug it was becoming hard to concentrate unless she had something caffeinated with her all the times.

On the way to the diner she passed a few more morning people. A balding man at a newspaper stand, a kid sitting at a hydrant next to him reading a comic, and people in suits or such hurrying off to work. She got to the diner and bought her coffee. When she got it, she relished in the smell. It had a bitter aroma and, as she took a sip, an even more bitter taste, but she didn't use sugar or cream. It diluted the drink too much.

Jackie stepped out of the diner, walking faster now. Putting the Styrofoam cup to her thin lips again, she checked the time. Nine-fifteen. She swore and picked up her pace, still looking at her watch. She hadn't gotten twenty steps from Gunga's Diner when she crashed headlong into someone, spilling burning coffee on herself and the other person.

"Gah, shit . . ." She tried wiping the coffee off, but it was already soaked into her coat. Distressed now, Jackie glanced at her watch, then back at the diner where she could find napkins. "Agh, I'm _really _sorry, but I really need to go. Sorry, my fault." She tossed the broken cup in a rubbish bin as she hurried off, pulling her sleeve back again to see the time. Nine twenty-five.

When she got back to the studio, Samantha was waiting awkwardly outside. Her mom was sitting in her car at the curb. Jackie cursed the more formal outfits she wore when she gave lessons. She had almost broken an ankle even in the tiny heels she wore.

"Oh, gosh." She gasped, slowing down as she came up to the girl. "Oh, Samantha, I'm sorry, I tried to get some coffee and I was running late . . . here, let me open the door." She pulled out the key and unlocked the door, waving to the girl's mom as she drove off.

"It's okay, Miss Davis." Samantha laughed, looking at the stains on her instructor's coat. She was about twelve or thirteen, as Jackie recalled.

"Samantha, you're too nice for your own good. And you're my oldest student, so please, just call me Jackie." She opened the door to the studio and let Samantha in first.

"Okay Miss—I mean, Jackie." The girl said. "Are we going to continue on Beethoven today?"

"No, no, I think you've moved past that. Let's try "Claire de Lune". I have other students working on simple Beethoven, and I think you're ready to at least give this a shot." She rifled through a folder until she found the sheet music. The girl's eyebrows rose as she glanced over it.

"This is pretty complicated . . ." Samantha said uneasily.

"I simplified a lot of it for you. The real piece is _much_ more challenging." The two sat down at the piano. "Besides, if you think it's too hard we can always go back."

-_One Month Later-_

Phalanx leaned against the ledge of the building, taking a bit of a night off. She was on the roof, wrapped in a blanket she had brought to ward against the chill. The top half of her costume, excluding her mask, was in her shaking hands as she attempted to stitch together the short slash in the fabric. Sewing had been labelled, in her mind, as a useless skill. Now she was beginning to regret not learning. Her hand was smeared in little bits of blood from constantly pricking herself, and though it would make more sense not to leave the motel at all, she was finding coming outside to be a habit.

Another needle of pain stung her finger. She continued without blinking, lacing the black thread through the two edges of fabric. Making a mental note to make the suit more resistant to attacks, she bit the end of the string and tied it as tight as she could with numb hands. The leather gloves she wore didn't protect much against cold. Pulling the fabric, she didn't particularly care at this point if it held or not. She was just relieved to have it mostly fixed. The back she had long ago put together, but only now was she starting to pay attention to the sleeve.

A gust of wind howled over the rooftop. Phalanx tugged the blanket closer to herself and pressed tighter against the wall. As the wind died down again, she shrugged off the blanket and pulled the top back on, then grabbed the blanket again, getting up to sit on the ledge she had been leaning on. She wasn't about to go prancing about with the thing with her, but if she saw someone below she could leave it and come back up. Someone—or rather, two people—stepped down on the roof behind her. She looked over her shoulder. It was Laurie and the Dr. Manhattan, doing their rounds.

"Oh, hi, Phalanx." Laurie greeted pleasantly. "I didn't know anyone was up here."

"It's fine. I can move." She stood and folded the blanket neatly. It was quite thin.

"No, we need to keep going . . ." The argument was half-hearted at best.

"It was about time I left anyway." She nodded to each of them. "Good to see you, Laurie. Dr. Manhattan."

Phalanx jogged to the edge of the building and jumped to the adjacent one. The night was cool and relatively quiet. It had been approximately a month since Captain Metropolis had tried to get the Crimebusters together, but Phalanx was fine by herself. Being around other people made her uncomfortable, and throwing knives got dicey when she wasn't sure who she was throwing them at.

She reached the motel. The night was still young, but this gave her a chance to drop off the blanket. She dropped down to the window ledge, slid open the window and tossed the blanket in. About to pull herself back up, she stopped at the sound of a fight below. She shimmied down the wall and drop onto the pavement, a longer knife already in her hand. Turning a corner, shadows danced across the alley walls. A can of spray paint clattered to the ground and rolled to her feet. A couple groans withered in the cool air, and then all was quiet again. There was a distinct pause, and then Rorschach stepped out of the alley shadows.

"Oh, you again." Phalanx commented, running a gloved finger along her blade. They watched each other for a moment—or, at least, she _thought _so. It was hard to tell with his mask that covered his eyes. The mask like a lava lamp, like a hypnotist's tool. She finally shrugged and walked back around the corner to where she knew there were good handholds. Alleys were all flat brick. "Bye."

She clambered back up and stretched when she reached the roof, bending down to touch her fingertips to her toes with one arm in the air, then bent back the other way. As she straightened up, holding a folded arm behind her head, she saw a shifting gaggle of people move about a block down the road. They walked out of an alleyway, then around a building and into another one. Jumping to the next building across and hoping she didn't lose them, she looking below her feet to see Rorschach running in the same direction.

Her scowl was hidden beneath the neutral face of her mask.

Leaping to a building a few feet lower, she spotted a rubbish bin and landed there before hopping down to the ground. She was a little ahead of Rorschach, but that changed a second later. It was more a silent race now. Neither acknowledged each other's presence, but kept their distance as the pair tore across the street. As they neared the alley, a bubble of drunken chuckling echoed out, as well as a small, feminine shriek. Phalanx, breaking the sort-of silence between the two by holding out one hand in an attempt to tell Rorschach to slow down, dropped a hand to the smaller knives at her belt. To her small relief, he seemed to get the hint and dropped back by just a step. She didn't want to be responsible for any friendly fire.

Phalanx tore around the corner and whipped the knives at the knot-tops without hesitation, on second thought hoping she didn't accidentally hit the woman in the dark. There were several cries, but she couldn't get all of them. Feet pattered down the pavement toward them, and she just had time to drop out of the way as a gloved fist barely grazed the side of her head, aiming for the fastest thug. Phalanx snapped the knife from her belt and turned to the side as a thug slashed downward with a short switchblade. He stumbled, and she reacted on instinct, slamming the curved knife down into his exposed back.

Blood gushed out across her hands, soaking her, the pavement, everything. She pulled the blade out again as he continued screaming, thrashing in helpless agony. Phalanx reached up to wipe something from her eye and smeared still-hot blood on her eyelid. The click of a gun being cocked caught her attention, and she plucked the last throwing knife from her belt. The thug with the gun was further down the alley and hidden in shadow, so she mostly threw based on sound. There was a thud, and he stumbled into her view, doubled over the knife in his stomach. She walked around behind him and wrenched the gun from his hand, taking the ammo out and tossing the empty thing aside. As she shoved him over, she looked up to see the last standing man being taken care of by Rorschach.

Turning around, Phalanx saw a woman crouched against the wall, quietly crying. Phalanx bent down and offered her a hand. The woman shakily took it, and Phalanx pulled her sharply up. "Are you okay?" The woman nodded, whimpering. Phalanx ushered her off to the main street. "Good. Go home and stay there." She turned then to look at Rorschach, but he was already walking away.

"Thank you for the help." She said, mostly out of courtesy. Rorschach turned around partially, enough for her to see the mask that moved.

"Hurm. No problem." He grumbled shortly. The mask shifted again before he turned the corner and left.

Phalanx padded across the buildings, reciting the map of the city in her head. She looked up at the sky. It had to be around three in the morning, meaning she had to hurry if she wanted any sleep. Finding the somewhat familiar apartment, she landed on the roof and bent over the edge, counting windows like she always did. Finding the right sill, she lowered herself down to shimmy down the front of the building. She reached the window and pushed it open—it was never locked. She pulled herself in feet-first and landed on the messy floor of the bedroom without a sound. In the bed, a man slumbered. She crept forward, and a floorboard creaked. She stopped. The man groaned, shifted around in the covers, and turned to see her standing a foot from the bed. He blinked sleepily, alarmed, and reached out to turn on the light. She grabbed his wrist before he could.

"It's okay." Her words were muffled behind the mask. "It's just me."

"Oh." He smiled, the side of his mouth turning up goofily as he let his hand relax into her gloved one. "You should have said something, spider. C'mere."

"I can't stay long." She pulled her hand away. "And I have blood on my gloves."

"Eh, I don't care. It's for a good cause, right?"

"I suppose. Listen, I just wanted to stop by and say hello. I should go."

"Hey, come over here a second."

She stepped over and sat down on the edge of the bed. He sat up and put his legs over to sit next to her, still tangled in his sheets. He reached over and gently pulled her mask off, giving it an apprehensive look as it was in his hand. Bits of polished silver on the cheeks glittered in the light from the streetlamp outside. "You know, this thing always gave me the creeps."

"Isn't that the point?"

"Yeah." He ran a hand through her hair. "Have I ever told you how much I love your hair?"

"I've been thinking of cutting it."

"Hm." He smirked. "You always were one for practicality." He leaned over and pressed a light kiss on her lips. "You should go and get some sleep."

"All right." She pulled her mask back on. "Stay safe, Jack."

"Only if you promise to as well, spider."

She said nothing, but pulled herself back up the building's front to the roof, closing the window with her foot as she went.

_I know, it's a little pathetic. I'm going in circles a bit here, but I'll try to get on the good ol' plot track before long. Review, please!_


	3. Tactics

_Upon a bit of research, I realized I made a mistake concerning Walter's job and the time at which this is, as in, about the summer of '66 in this chapter. The passage of time never _was _something I grasped particularly well…eh. It's been remedied. From now on, I've got my stories straight. Sorry. Oh and REVIEW. _

Listen to: _"It's Summertime" _by The Flaming Lips for the first two time changes, _"Holiday" _by Green Day for most of Phalanx's scenes, but _"Somedays" _by Regina Spektor for the last scene.

The sun crowed brightly through the window of the motel, shifting a bar of bright light onto the empty bed. Sheets were still mussed up from the nights passed, the occupant too lazy or preoccupied to make the bed. Said occupant, in fact, had fallen asleep at the kitchen table, head lolled back on her neck and a bit of dried drool at the corner of her mouth. A mug of cold black tea was on the table, only partially consumed. A half-hearted scribble of a bird decorated the back of "Moonlight Sonata". Her internal clock, sensing morning, slowly roused her. Jackie blinked, squinted against the sun, and peered down at her watch.

There was a massive crash as she tried to get up, but ended up falling backwards in the chair. She rolled backwards and fell back on her heels, still looking at her watch to be sure she had not made a mistake. Fumbling haphazardly for fresh clothes, she swore at herself. Never again would she stay out that late. She grimaced and muttered more curses as she struggled into her short heels, looking again at her watch. She was going to be _very _late.

When she got down to the studio, she was tugging angrily at her hair, trying to get it into a respectable style. Jonathan was sitting in the car next to his mother, his words silent as he talked animatedly. Jackie jogged up, wincing with every step, and waved in the sideview mirror. Jonathan turned and said something to his mother, who also turned, but who looked more annoyed. Jackie mouthed an apology as Jonathan climbed out of the car.

"Hi, Miss Davis." The boy greeted timidly.

"Jonathan, I am so sorry!" She gasped, jamming more pins into her hair and giving a quick wave to his mother. "I slept in, I'm sorry!"

"It's okay. I do that on weekends and sometimes on school days. Mom gets mad when I do that." He smiled, revealing a gap where his left canine should have been.

Jackie grinned back and led him to the studio, when she remembered that his piece of music was still in her motel room, sporting a new bird. She groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead. Things were not going as planned. "Hey, Jonathan, what do you say we take a little day off? I can just play for you today."

"Yeah! Um, why?" He asked, pulling off his jacket and handing it to her to put on the hook by the door.

"I, well . . ." She scratched the back of her neck, where little hairs were pinching the nape. "I forgot your music."

"I have it in my folder, though."

"Oh!" She had completely forgotten that they had folders for their own, less complicated copies. "That makes things easier, doesn't it? Well, let's get to it." The two sat down on the bench. "All right, just start playing the melody and I'll do the chords over here."

-w-

"Do you want me to wait here with you?" Jackie asked the boy as they stood outside on the sidewalk. Summer was coming, and the sun was glaring brightly down at them. She seilded her eyes and looked both ways down the street.

"No, mom should be here soon." Jonathan said, a little nervously.

"Well, I think I'll stay out here anyway." She replied, looking down the street again as she said so. "I couldn't just leave you out here by yourself."

They waited a little longer out in the morning wind, Jackie a little impatiently. Samantha still was on for the day, and she didn't like having too many kids on hand. Finally, the car Jonathan's mother owned pulled up by the curb.

"Bye, kiddo. See you tomorrow." Jonathan waved back at her as the car pulled away, almost immediately followed by Samantha's. The girl climbed out, wincing against the rush of wind.

"Hi, Jackie." She said, yawning and tugging her coat closer to herself. "Are we doing Debussy again today?"

Jackie turned to unlock the door, but as soon as Samantha's mom had turned the corner, she turned around again. "Hey, do you drink coffee?" She asked.

"Sometimes, if I have a lot of time before school. Why?"

Jackie smiled. "How about we take a little field trip?"

"Where?"

"You ever been to Gunga's Diner, just a block or so away?"

"Once, I think."

"Let's try for a second time. You okay with that?"

Samantha shrugged. "Yeah. It's Monday, anyway."

Jackie chuckled and they began walking down the street. "That's true."

On the way to the diner, she noticed the same people from the previous time. The balding man at the newspaper stand, the kid reading the comic at the hydrant next to him, and all the miscellaneous people walking to work. She pointed them out to Samantha, who blinked and smiled a little.

"Why them, though?" She asked.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Well, they seem like normal people. Why do you think they're so special?"

Jackie rubbed her chin. She wasn't sure. "I don't know. People fascinate me sometimes. I look at them on the street, and wonder what they're thinking. What thoughts are going through their heads? What's happening in their lives? I can never know!"

"You could ask them."

The pianist laughed, shoving her hands back into her coat pockets. "Yeah, I guess I could." They walked into the diner that smelled of cheap breakfast food and ordered their coffees. "How did your weekend go?"

"Fine, I guess. I was kinda bored. All I have to do is read at home because we don't have a T.V." Jackie paid for the drinks as Samantha talked. "I bet you have a lot more fun on weekends." The student stopped at a little counter before they left and put a few sugar cubes and a little plastic cup of half-and-half in the dark liquid.

Jackie hid her smirk behind the black coffee, not caring that it scalded her throat. "Not really."

-w-

The knot-top groaned and hacked a glob of pink saliva to the side, wiping his mouth with the back of his fist that he had clutched around the neck of a broken wine bottle. He staggered, then straightened up with a scowl. Phalanx was casually rotating a knife on the end of her finger, the blade swinging in glinting circles. Though the movement was relaxed, her stance was quite the opposite.

"Come on, now, you aren't even trying!" She snapped scathingly. She sidestepped the clumsy, swinging green glass as the man stumbled past her again. "One more time, with feeling!"

"Shut up, you bitch!" The thug snapped angrily. He charged again, swinging and thrusting the bottle wildly. She could smell the previous contents on his breath. As she took another step back, she had to avoid treading on the other fallen gang members in the alley.

"All right, enough!" On the next crazed swing, she grabbed his wrist and bent it at a terrible angle. There was an audible snap as the radius broke cleanly in two. He screamed in pain, and to silence him she jerked forward, slamming her forehead against his. The pain, alcohol and head wound were enough to make him pass out cold.

Phalanx looked down at her gloves, which were covered in a greasy something that had been on the thug's jacket. Wiping off her hands, she looked up at the alley walls in dismay. There were no close windows, so she walked out to the main road and started walking. Summer was just on the horizon, and her costume absorbed heat like nothing else. Couple that with constantly running around and fighting, and it was a recipe for instant sweat. She tugged at the line between her mask and neckline, exposing a sliver of pale skin, thinking she should make a summer version of the costume. That would be a pain, though, and there were bigger fish on her—

Her trail of thought was cut off as something barrelled into her from the side; she caught herself in time, but stumbled and was knocked off-kilter all the same. Snarling, she turned to see her attacker and was greeted not with a face, but a back. She was surprised she hadn't heard the scuffle earlier. Getting a grip on the situation, she ducked as a stone flew over her head.

"Out of the way." A gruff voice commanded, making a subsequent motion to her without turning.

"Oh, you again." Phalanx observed blandly, running a smooth stone once against the edge of her knife before stepping to face the sizeable amount of thugs. "You're in a little deep."

"Daniel is on the way with the Owlship." He replied, dodging two punches and landing a kick to a gut. "And I'm fine."

"That isn't reassuring." A knot-top jabbed at her with a switchblade and she grabbed his arm, getting a sense of déjà vu. She cut her knife across his bicep and kicked him away. "Well, I should go."

"Yes, you should."

"Well, what a welcome party you are—Ack!" Another thug charged, swinging a huge chain. Ducking and dodging wildly, Phalanx dove through the twisting crowd of sweat, bristling weapons and general stink to emerge in a thin alley that led behind some buildings.

"Be seeing you." Phalanx ducked another stab from a blade and latched onto the closest window ledge, panting from heat, exertion and adrenaline. Above her, she could begin to hear the hum of the Owlship's engines as she left the scene behind. She yanked herself onto the next ledge, almost laughing as she revelled in the exercise. When she reached the top, she found that none of the thugs had been following her. Her gaze fell back to the area where the fight would be ensuing, and sighed heavily, tugging at her neckline again in annoyance. She was going to regret it, she knew it, but she began jumping back across.

When she arrived back at where she started, Nite Owl and Rorschach were doing well at taking care of the large gang. Looking down, there seemed to be only a few guys left to take care of. Both vigilantes had their hands full, though, so neither noticed when an outlier, the man Phalanx had injured earlier, began to sneak forward with a little blade. The two men had their backs turned to each other, but there was room enough between them for one mildly clever thug. Phalanx wasn't sure which of them he was going for, but she wasn't going to find out. Snapping one of her own little throwing knives from her belt, she took careful aim and felt the thin metal fly from her hand.

The little sliver seemed to go through the air in slowed time. It spun end over end, a good throw, but slightly off. She had thrown a few inches to the right, and that was all it took. For one split second of minor horror, she believed that the knife was going to hit Rorschach. It spun ever closer, through oxygen and carbon dioxide atoms that had turned to molasses for a heartbeat, toward the trench-coated back.

Then, by some miracle of fate, the thug chose that very instant to raise his hand to stab the vigilante. As he raised his hand, the knife was intercepted and wedged itself right through his palm.

Time resumed its normal pace.

The thug screeched in agony, instantly alerting a now-unoccupied Rorschach and, a few seconds later, Nite Owl as well. Phalanx let out a short breath. That had been far too close for comfort. She sat down on the edge of the building, rolling her neck and listening to the joints pop. She pushed a hand down the neckline of her costume, rubbing at the itching sweat on her collarbone and enjoying the thin breeze that she could feel now that she was high up, where she was comfortable. Resting her elbows on her knees and her feet on the bricks of the building, she watched the remaining members of the gang run off with their tails tucked between their legs.

Nite Owl looked up at where she was sitting and waved. Phalanx gave a little salute. The man looked up at the Owlship, the dark oval hovering high above with a ladder dangling down near them. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "Do you want to tag along?" Phalanx looked up at the ship, then scuttled down the side of the building and walked towards them.

"It's, uh, good to formally meet you." Nite Owl held out his hand and the woman shook it.

"Likewise. Nite Owl, right?" She asked as they walked to the ladder with Rorschach trailing behind.

"Yeah, that's me." He grabbed the ladder and started climbing up, still talking. "I saw you at that, uh, meeting a few months back. What was your name again?"

Phalanx pulled herself into the ship, followed by Rorschach, who began pulling the ladder up into after him. "Just call me Phalanx."

"Huh. Strange name. What does it mean?"

"It's an old Roman military strategy. I like to study them." She stepped back to rest a hand against the wall of the ship as it took off, higher into the night. There was another seat, next to the one that Nite Owl was steering in, but she was uncomfortable enough as it was and sitting down made her uneasy. The ship rose higher still before levelling out and gliding smoothly above the city. Lights below were like multi-coloured stars on the ground. She watched out the circular windows in the front as New York twinkled below.

Phalanx peeked under the sleeve of her costume to look at her watch. It was getting early, and she still needed to make her usual stop. "I should go." She said to Nite Owl. She looked out the window again, going over the map of the city in her head and concluding that she wasn't that far from where she was going. "Could you just go to the top of that building?"

"Uh, sure." The vigilante steered the ship to where she pointed, a nondescript building a good distance below them still. He began lowering the ship, but Phalanx waved a hand.

"No, this is fine." She walked past Rorschach and picked up the rope ladder now laying on the floor, making sure there were no kinks and giving it a good tug. "Mind if I use this?"

"No, but what are you doing?"

Phalanx gave the ladder another look and decided it was long enough that she wouldn't injure herself. She hit a button on the side that she guessed opened the door on the side, and guessed correctly. A metal platform folded out and the chill air from being so high poured into the ship. Phalanx walked out to the edge, holding the rope tightly, but turned as she reached the end. With a little wave to Nite Owl and nod to Rorschach she said, "Thanks for the ride." And dove off the edge.

She plummeted through the air face-first at the beginning, then flipped over so her feet pointed down. Her heart crashed into her ribs as the air buffeted her mask and howled past her ears. Her breath was being sucked from her lungs. Water pricked her eyes as she fell. As she grew closer and closer to the building, she thought that she may have misjudged the ladder and she had just committed suicide. But, to her relief, the rope suddenly snapped taut when she was within a few metres of the rooftop. She snapped with it, and a pain shot through her arm from her elbow. Hoping that her arm wasn't just ripped from her socket, Phalanx dropped down and gave another wave up to the ship before jogging to the edge of the building and beginning her climb down.

-w-

Phalanx lowered herself down to the windowsill and pulled the glass up with her foot, keeping one hand as support and kept her other one tucked against her middle. When it was open she slipped inside and took a knee on the floor of the pitch-black apartment, catching her breath. Free running was a lot harder with only one arm to use, and she concluded that she had indeed dislocated her shoulder. Standing, she walked to the bed and flicked on the light. The man in the bed groaned and rolled over, but upon seeing her, was wide awake.

"Spider, wake me up first!" He protested, rubbing his eyes. "What happened to your arm?"

"I dislocated my shoulder."

"My God, woman!" He laughed dryly and gestured for her to sit on the bed, which she did. He looked over her arm sceptically and shook his head. "I don't know." He reached out and touched her arm, and she hissed in protest.

"For fuck's sake, Jack, just pop it into place!" She snapped.

"All right . . . get something to bite down on." Phalanx ripped off her mask at his suggestion and jammed the fleshiest part of her sinewy arm into her mouth and nodded. Jack put one hand on her upper arm and one hand almost on her neck, and thrust the limb sharply up. Phalanx grunted, but made no other noise. Bits of blood, however, were leaking from her arm where her canines had cut deep into her skin.

Releasing her arm from her mouth, she shrugged the arm around a little. "Thanks, Jack. Feels a lot better now."

"I had no idea what I was doing." They looked at each other for a moment, and then started snickering.

Phalanx sighed, still smiling, and looked down at her arm. "You wouldn't happen to have any bandages, would you?"

"Yeah, actually." He threw back the covers and walked to the bathroom, where he opened the cupboard. "How did that happen to your arm, anyway? It didn't look like you were much hurt besides that." He rifled around until he found a roll of white bandages and a bit of medical tape.

"I jumped out of Nite Owl's ship."

"You're running with that crowd? I thought you worked alone."

"They just gave me ride across town." She held out her arm as he began wrapping the soft cloth around the bleeding bite.

"'They'?"

"Rorschach was with him."

He gave her a look of warning, taping the bandage. "Careful with that one, spider. I've heard he's a bit more . . . "loose cannon" than those other guys."

Phalanx made a little noise of indifference. "Does it matter, at this point?" She looked out the window, and the yellow lights of the city. "There's no time to pick and choose allies. The world is turning to madness."


	4. Set Flags

Listen to: "_Dead Island Trailer Theme" _by Giles Lamb for the first part, "_Time" _by Hans Zimmer for the apartment scene, and _"Slow Life (with Victoria Legrand) _by Grizzly Bear for the last scene. O

"Right, this is the tricky part . . . okay . . . good, good." The music petered out. "Remember to keep the harmony steady on your left hand."

"Okay."

"Remember to practice, okay?"

"Okay."

"See you on Monday, Samantha."

"Yeah. Have a good weekend." The studio door closed softly. Jackie stood and walked to the window, pushing the curtain back a tiny bit with a finger. Her eyes followed the girl until she got in the car and drove away; she felt obliged to make sure she was safe. As she was about to turn from the window, a person walking on the sidewalk caught her eye. Sighing, she walked back to the piano bench and sat down facing away from the keys, waiting. A handful of seconds later, there was a knock on the door before it opened.

The visitor was a tall man, with short-cropped hair that wasn't quite black and features that suggested an easy smile. His eyes were sympathetic as he moved to sit next to her. He reached over and picked up her left hand, careful not to lean on her right shoulder. For a few minutes they sat like that; he stared at her, and she stared at the floor.

He was the first to break the silence. "How's your arm?"

Her response was slow to come. "It's fine. Wish I didn't have to wear this fucking thing." She flopped her right arm, which hung in a blue sling close to her middle.

"You need to." He rested his forehead on her temple. His breath was too hot on her neck. "I want you to get better."

"Jack," She moved away from him a little. Her face was neutral, but her eyes were hard as stone. The irises were dark, making for a positively unnerving effect. "I can't take this. I need to go out and _do _something. It's been a week and a half. I'm tired of sitting around."

"Jacqueline." He murmured her name into her shoulder. She winced and shrugged him off. "If nothing else, do this for me. Please. Promise me that I won't turn on the news one day and see you lying on the concrete."

"Don't call me that." The words came out sharper than she meant. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she stood and walked around the studio. She ended up at the window again, looking out at the morning light on the buildings. "I'm going out tonight. Screw my shoulder." She looked back at Jack, still sitting on the piano bench. Half her face was lit in pale, yellowish light. Her voice was quieter now, but in the tall room it still sounded like a shout. "And I would promise you that . . . but I can't." She looked back out the window. "It's not a promise I'm sure I can keep."

There was a pregnant pause, and then a pair of arms wrapped around her middle. A little kiss on her neck accompanied the whisper, "Just be careful, spider."

She turned her head a little, the shadow of a smirk on her face. "Always am."

" . . . Thank you."

-w-

Phalanx slammed hard into the wall, hissing in irritation and pain. She waved a knife tauntingly at the knot-top, wanting almost too badly to cause the man pain. He charged forward, baseball bat raised, and she cut a neat, shallow line from his collarbone to his naval. It wasn't fatal, but it was enough to stop him in his tracks. She backhanded him hard with the hand holding her knife, and he fell to the ground and did not get back up.

Panting heavily, she ran a hand under her neckline again to wipe the sweat away. Gasping, she fell against the wall again, holding her shoulder. Pulses of dull pain resonated down her arm to her fingertips. Sucking in a breath, she turned and jumped up, pulling herself up the building. Gritting her teeth against the growing pain, she moved higher up. Eventually, she came to the end of an easy path and was forced to jump to the side to a better handhold, but the majority of her weight landed on her arm. Crying out at the sudden yanking pain, her grip loosened and she fell down to the hard concrete.

Her vision flashed red and white. In the time that it took for her to breathe in, she was utterly numb. Then, the pain came. It leaked into her skull, down her spine. For a small eternity, all she felt were tiny pricks of rocks or glass in the soft sides of her mask against her face. Another thousand breaths and she let out a noise somewhere between a groan and cough. Pushing herself up, a sharp wave of vertigo struck her, followed by a similar wave of nausea. Without thinking, she tore off her mask and heaved thin bile on the ground—there was nothing in her stomach. Burning, unintentional tears streamed down her exposed face. Groping the back of her head, she swore at the pain near her crown.

Wiping her mouth, Phalanx pulled her mask back on and started walking. Her fingers were clenched tight around the hilt of her knife. She found herself, to her annoyance and frustration, keeping a hand on the passing buildings to keep herself steady. Her vision was swimming, and everything was in rotating doubles, but she refused to stop. She wasn't sure _precisely _where she was, but the best she could do was walk.

Every few seconds she would come into a large circle of yellow light, and pass out of it again. The air smelled foul and of pollution in the warm summer night. Someone laughed loudly above her, in an apartment. A bottle broke somewhere, the tinkling glass adding to the quiet symphony of the night. Footsteps and talking echoed in an alley not far behind her. Too late, she realized that she had unintentionally wandered into one of the worst parts of town. Not the worst by far, but bad enough that she knew she wasn't safe. Most of the outside noises were partially drowned by a persistent, disorienting ringing that resounded in her ears.

Stumbling forward a few more steps, she caught herself on the corner of a building and took a shuddering breath. She needed to get somewhere safe—the motel. The footsteps behind her were clearer now. Clenching her jaw, she pushed herself from the wall and started walking again, but did not get very far. As darkness crept in around her vision, accompanied by a slowly worsening headache, she wondered mildly why the uneven concrete was suddenly right up next to her face. Then she felt no more.

-w-

Jackie sniffed. Something was tickling her nose. She wriggled the cartilage around, to no avail. Finally, the tickle got so bad she sneezed, sharply and loudly. Yawning, she rubbed her eyes. "Hm, Jack? You wake me up like that again and I'll . . ." She stopped talking when she realized she wasn't in her house. She was on a sofa, somewhere. The place looked comfortable enough, but fight or flight began to kick in. Her eyes flicked across the room, until she saw what she was looking for—her mask and belt of knives, sitting below a coat rack.

There was no hesitation. Jackie jumped from the sofa, ignoring the massive pang of nausea, and snatched her mask. Picking up her belt, she noticed a curious weight on her head. Patting her skull, she felt layers of bandaging around the top of her head. She rubbed her temples; things were blurry. Taking a quick look around, she saw that no one was guarding her, for the moment. Her momentary hopes of running, however, stopped when a door a few feet away suddenly opened to reveal Nite Owl, goggles hanging around his neck and his hood pulled back. He seemed surprised to see her.

After an uncomfortable silence, the vigilante gave a smile of nervous relief. "Oh, you're up. For a while there, we thought you might have been dead."

Jackie blinked and looked out the window. The sky was stained with dark blue of pre-morning sun. Gritting her teeth inwardly at her own stupidity, she asked, "'We'?"

"Er, yeah." He said, seeming a little uncomfortable. As she thought about it, in the short time she had known the man, everything he seemed to do was at least a little uncomfortable. "Rorschach found you, lying in the middle of the street. He brought you back here."

Sighing, Jackie removed her mask. "I guess I don't need this right now. What happened?"

"We were hoping you could tell us that." He said.

"I don't know." She furrowed her brow. "Couple weeks ago, I dislocated my shoulder . . . jumping from your ship. I thought I could get back to work." She racked her memory. "I think . . . I think I fell a couple stories from a building I was on. But that's it. The next thing I remember, I'm in here." She looked behind her, outside, and then started walking to the door. "Thanks for the help. I owe you one. Oh!" She peeked back in the door, her face now covered in her doll-mask. "And if you see Rorschach, tell him to stop following me."

Only through running very fast and taking the quickest back-routes she knew of. When she reached her motel, she decided to take another shot at climbing. Only a few handholds up, she was grateful for the relatively chill morning air. Her head throbbed and her arm screamed in protest. Now, she was starting to wish for her annoying sling. Groaning, her entire body crying out for her to simply stop, she finally reached her window and pulled herself in. Collapsing on the floor, she couldn't suck the oxygen into her lungs fast enough. Pain ricocheted through her limbs. After catching her breath, she pushed herself up to her knees.

"Ugh, Jesus . . ." She muttered, hands falling back to rub her neck. Something brushed against her leg as she did so, and then jumped up to scratch her leg. "Ah! Oh." She stroked the smooth, black fur of the feline, taking a relieved breath. "Don't scare me like that, Cat."

Jackie had never given the animal a real name. Cats, in her opinion and experience, had never responded especially well to being called this or that. Sometimes his name was Leo, sometimes it was Oscar, sometimes it was Liquorice, but most of the time it was just 'Cat'.

"Come on, lovely." Jackie mumbled, mussing up the cat's short hair. "I'm tired." She fell onto the bed, and was asleep before her head struck the pillow.

-w-

Jackie walked down the cold street, keeping her head down. The stars were still invisible. The breeze kept the hot sweat off her neck and hands. She continued walking, listening to the symphony of the night; breaking glass bottles and loud laughter, threatening footsteps and scraping gravel under her feet. Another few steps, and she stopped to look up at an apartment building. It was familiar—Jack lived there. Putting a hand on the brick, she paused there before jumping up and grabbing a window ledge with both fingertips, a standard strategy.

As she put a foot up, she found she did not have to climb. She could walk, now, on the wall. Stepping across the building, she made her way up the floors to Jack's window. When she arrived at the glass, she crouched down and peered into the room. Jack straightened up in his bed, and she blinked in wonder at how his mask moved and twisted like a lava lamp.

Thunder crashed above her. She looked up, expecting rain, but none came. She looked back at Jack in the window. She wanted to keep watching the mask. Again, however, thunder rumbled, but now in three distinct booms. Jackie glared at the sky again, and as she did so the thunder changed into three more, less weather-sounding bangs, and finally it sounded like someone was knocking on the sky. Before she could turn back to look in the window again, her feet gave out and she plummeted to the cement.

-w-

Cat yowled and hissed, jumping away from his owner as she jerked awake with a yelp. Jackie glanced around the room; it couldn't have been earlier than late afternoon, meaning she'd slept all day. Taking a few deep breaths, Jackie ran a hand through her hair, gathering greasy sweat from the roots. Shaking the strange dream from her head, she climbed from bed and looked in the peephole of the door. At first she didn't see anything, but then a young, terrified face swam into view. Jackie blinked, then instantly slammed open the chain and lock and threw open the door. She was almost knocked off her feet as Samantha barrelled into her, hugging her around the middle and sobbing. Jackie craned over the close the door again before sitting down on the bed. Samantha trailed after, still desperately clinging to her torso.

"Samantha . . . hey, girl . . . what's wrong?" She tried to console the girl, but she was an absolute wreck. So, unsure of what to do, she gently patted her back and waited until the body-racking sobs subsided and the snivelling slowed. "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

"I . . ." Samantha sniffed and rubbed her face to get rid of some of the tears. "I came home today from school . . . and I-I found my mom, and she was just _lying _there, and there w-was so much . . . so much _blood_ . . ." On the last word she broke down again, wet tears soaking into Jackie's costume. "A-and I knew t-t-that she was g-gone and I just didn't know w-who to go to!"

Jackie blinked as the weight of the story crashed down on her like a tidal wave. The realization of what had happened, and what was going to happen, to Samantha infuriated her to no extent. Shoulder or not, concussion or not, she was going to find the low-life who did the horrible deed. Samantha wept until the sun went down, and Jackie was forced to pry her away for a moment to turn on the light. The girl stayed face-down into the messy sheets, whimpering and shaking. Jackie, figuring she would be fine, went into the kitchen with real pyjamas and quickly changed. Picking her thin robe from the back of a chair, she tied it chokingly tight and put on a kettle. She brought out two mugs and put earl grey tea bags in them. She was rifling through the freezer in search of the ice cream she had bought earlier in the week when the quiet sniffing stopped with a little gasp.

"Oh, yeah." Jackie said, pushing aside boxes of frozen food. "That's, um . . . just call him Cat." She stood up and realized that it wasn't Cat who had startled Samantha. Her window was shadowed with the shape of a person. A gentle clicking was coming from the window as they tried to pick the lock, not yet realizing that she had forgotten to lock it the previous night.

"Get away!" Jackie was there in a second, pushing Samantha into the kitchen and grabbing a knife from her discarded costume. The intruder had just realized the window was unlocked and pulled it open before landing inside. Jackie squinted in the dim light, then groaned, tossed the knife on the bed and walked back in the kitchen.

"If you break into my house again, I'm pushing you off." She snapped, opening the freezer again. Pulling the pint of ice cream from the freezer, she handed it to Samantha with a spoon. "Here," She said with a little, awkward smile, her tone now much softer. "Eat as much of this as you want. It'll make you feel better for now, but we should talk after you're done." Samantha's lip was still quivering, but the corners of her mouth twitched up a little and she sat at the kitchen table.

Jackie moved in front of the girl and faced the newest guest to her room with a glare. "Why are you here?"

"Daniel wanted me to follow you home. Make sure you didn't pass out again." Rorschach answered grumpily, sounding not too pleased with his newest task.

"All right, how nice of you. That still didn't answer my question."

"Heard crying from the street. Couldn't be too sure."

"Well, then." Jackie folded her arms. "Thank you for being so . . . _thorough." _She glanced behind her at Samantha, then sighed a faced forward again. "Just . . ." She gave a dry laugh. "Just knock next time, all right?"

The short, slightly tense silence was snapped apart by the whistling of the kettle. Jackie turned and flicked off the heat, pouring the boiling water into the mugs. Clouds of aromatic steam curled up from each cup as she set them on the table. "While you're here, do you want some tea, or . . .?" She looked up at an empty room. The thin curtains rustled wispily on the window. "Ugh!" Jackie sat down with a huff. The chair squeaked against the floor as she dropped into it, frustrated.

A little sniff interrupted her quiet seething. Samantha was drooped over the pint of ice cream, the spoon dripping melted chocolate and spit on the table. Little tears were rolling down her face again, shoulders shivering. Jackie wasn't sure how to handle the situation anymore. She'd never had children, and this was far out of her league.

"Hey, er . . . I have a shower just over there; if you want to use it and relax we can talk afterward." Jackie suggested awkwardly. "You can use some of my clothes when you get out, if you want."

Samantha clumsily wiped at her face and nodded a little. She stood and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. Jackie took a deep breath, grateful that things had not gone so terrible. She picked up the ice cream carton and put it away, wiping sticky sugar from her hands. The water of the shower sputtered on from the bathroom as she picked up the discarded spoon and wiped down the table. She left the window open, as the breeze relieved some of the stifling heat that had accumulated from the shower and tea. Oscar jumped onto her lap when she sat back down at the table, rubbing against her robe and leaving short black furs along her middle.

For a good while, Jackie sat and pondered what she was going to do. She couldn't keep the girl, but there was something distinctly cold about just tossing her at the nearest foster home. Several minutes of thought later, Samantha emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Jackie had laid out a set of pyjamas of her own for the girl to wear on her bed.

"You can go change over there," She jerked a thumb at the doorway to the bedroom. Samantha nodded, a dead expression now decorating her face instead of a grieved one. Jackie looked after her, the neutral expression even more offsetting than the former one, but saw something strange on her back. Just leering over the line of the towel and peering through wet locks of dirty blond hair was a patch of discoloured skin. "Hey, wait a second."

Samantha froze. "Yes?"

Jackie, frowning, stood up. "What's this?" She pulled the edge of the towel down a tiny bit, just enough to see the spot of skin. A short hiss of breath sucked in between her teeth. The bruise was yellowish, already a little healed, but some parts were blackish. "What the . . . where did these come from?"

Samantha stepped away quickly, keeping her face to Jackie now. "I, uh, I fell in the shower a minute ago."

"I didn't hear anything."

"Well, the, uh, shower was pretty loud."

"That's true, but that bruise is starting to heal; there's no way an injury that size healed that much not five minutes ago." Jackie narrowed her eyes a little as a horrible thought began to creep in on her mind. "Did you encounter the man who killed your mother when you got home?"

"No, it was—it was just her." The girl answered shakily.

"Very well, then would I be correct in assuming that the bruise came from your mother?"

"What? No!" The answer was far too quick. "She would never—she wasn't like that!"

Jackie made a little noise, but seemed to drop the topic. She smiled, trying to be reassuring, and gestured to the bedroom again. "Go on, get changed. I'm sure you just fell and I'm mislead." Samantha let out an almost indistinguishable breath of relief and walked off. As soon as her back was turned, Jackie's smile dropped instantly. Something didn't smell right.

When she came back in the room and sat down, Jackie was brooding over her empty mug. "Do you have any living relatives?"

"No. My dad left me before I was born and my mother was an only child. So am I." The blonde sat down with a sad frown.

The other woman thought for a long moment. "Samantha, you know that in these few months I've felt as though you were my own daughter."

"Huh? Really?" The girl looked a bit too pleased.

"Yeah. Listen, I don't want to give you up to any sort of foster home, but . . . I really just can't afford to take you in."

"Oh."

Jackie sighed. An idea, a purely irritating idea that was going to burn her pride to ash, began to leak into her brain. She clenched her teeth until they hurt and knotted a hand in her hair. Somehow, even this idea felt more painful than her shoulder and head put together. Her self-hateful string of thoughts was broken off by a light clearing of the throat.

"Um, Jackie?" Samantha asked hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" The woman relaxed a little, but stood and walked into the bedroom. She picked her watch up off her bedside and checked the time. Eleven forty-seven. She had plenty of time. She grabbed her costume off the floor, tossing off her robe and pyjamas. "Sam—can I call you Sam? Listen, Sam, I'm going out for a second. Feel free to stay here tonight and help yourself to the fridge, careful with Liquorice because he bites strangers, and sleep in the bed if you get tired. Close this window but make sure to keep it unlocked." She pulled on her mask and picked up her belt. "I don't know how long I'll be gone, but I'll be here in the morning for sure. Imitate your mum's voice and call yourself in with the flu. Oh, and one more thing." She turned back to a blinking Samantha, her mask peering blankly, but her eyes smiling. The knives at her hip rattled like a macabre wind chime. "Don't tell anyone about this. It's our little secret now."

Putting her weight on her left arm, she pulled herself out of the window and slid down the building face to the pavement.

-w-

She walked for an hour, grumpy and with already injured pride, in the seediest and most filth-stained alleys of the city, coming across punch-outs, knife fights and the hiring of prostitutes before she found what she was looking for. It was a fight in a particularly dark and mud-puddled street, apparently nothing special. Something seemed different, though—it didn't look like a scuffle between gangs. Without hesitating, she turned down the alley and marched up to the nearest gangster. He was circling in a wrestler-like manner, and didn't see her walk up behind him. She may not have been able to use her dominant arm, but her legs were just fine. As he circled close to her, she swung a leg up and kicked him square between the legs. The reaction was instantaneous; he groaned dropped to his knees in the wet alley, and Phalanx swung her leg up again, and her toe connected with his temple.

She blew a breath out her nose and stepped back. The fight had died down, and the remaining man standing was walking back towards her. Before he could say anything, she held up a hand. "I don't have a lot of time. I need your help."

"What?" Rorschach sounded as close to amused as he seemed he could get, which was, unsurprisingly, not very.

"You heard me, I won't say it again." She folded her arms, wincing a little. "And it's not so much help as . . . advice."

"Why me? Go to Daniel. Better with advice."

"You broke into my house. You owe me one."

"I owe you nothing."

She glared at him for a beat, silently still entranced by the moving mask. "You remember the girl in my house earlier?"

"Hurm. Your daughter." He stalked past her, walking out to the street. She jogged after him, gritting her teeth.

"No. A . . . friend. Her mother was murdered tonight and she came to me. She doesn't have any living relatives, her father is gone and I'm fairly sure she was being beaten." To her surprise, Rorschach stopped in his tracks, and she ran into his back. Backing away, she went on. "For obvious reasons, I can't keep her, but a foster home seems cruel." Phalanx glanced over her shoulder, then pulled her mask away. Her hair, already messy from earlier, was now a veritable rat's nest. "I don't know if you can help me. I just don't know who else to go to."

She waited. She counted sixty-three and a half seconds. "Fine. Then at least help me catch the woman's killer."

"Why?" He turned around, and even under the mask she could tell he was glaring at her.

"It's only right."

"Woman beats her child. Why should she be avenged? Not right at all. Her death was justice."

"Yeah?" She shoved him harshly, but it was more like pushing herself away from a wall. "It was _justice? _It was _justice _that Samantha is going into a home now? It's _justice _that she'll be traumatized for decades? If that's your definition of justice, then maybe I don't want your help after all." She crammed her mask back over her face. Her eyes were black, glaring stones in the pale, peaceful face. "See you around."

Cat needed to be fed, anyway.

_Plot? Oh, the tantalizing string of it is hanging in there. _


	5. Draw Weapons

_Ugh, so much dialogue in this chapter. Sorry, urgh. So, I just realized how close Jackie and Jack's names are; I guess I just like that name, heh heh. Er, just try to overlook it. Jack calls her all sorts of nicknames so hopefully this won't get _too _confusing. Also, I sort of realized that Jackie's "motel" is more like a really small apartment. So let's change that, too. _

_**Hey, **__for a better idea of how Phalanx moves around and stuff, I'm sort of writing her based on Mirror's Edge/basic parkour moves/freerunning. A lot of parkour is showing off (like flipping off EVERYTHING), but I'm talking basics, like jumping from high things, climbing, you get the idea._

_Yann Tiersen's music for the Amelie soundtrack can fit literally any situation. You might see a lot of that around. The one in this chapter translates into: Rhyme of the Other Summer: The Afternoon. My French isn't great, though. _

Listen to: _"A Story of Boy Meets Girl"_ by Mycheal Danna for the first, long bit (you might have to replay it a few times), "_Comptine D'un Autre Été: L'après Midi" _by Yann Tiersen when she's playing in the studio, and _"Viva la Gloria" _by Green Day for the last part. You'll know the one.

"Ugh, damn this heat!" Jackie was sprawled on the linoleum kitchen floor, panting like a dog. August had a few last surprises in mind before fall came about, and the air was so hot she swore that she could see it shimmering. Both the windows in the apartment, in the kitchen and bedroom, had been thrown open as far as they could go, but there was only a whisper of a breeze to offer relief. She was down to a bra, tank top and shorts, but even that felt too warm.

"Complaining about it won't help." Jack groaned from the bed, across the long room.

"Easy for you to say. You don't have to run around in all black in this bloody sauna." She turned her head so her other cheek pressed on the floor. "Now make more lemonade, slave." She poked the empty glass that held naught but rapidly melting ice.

"As I recall, it's _your _turn." He replied, also turning to face her. Jackie groaned lazily and dragged herself across the floor. She reached up to the kitchen table and groped around on top. Her fingers found the chill hilt of one of her little knives, and without looking she hurled the blade through the doorway and fell back down to the forgiving floor. She heard a thump as it wedged into the wall.

"Ah! Okay, okay, I'll get it." Jack stood up and shuffled into the kitchen. He filled the pitcher with ice and water before measuring out the sugar already on the counter. "Why don't you get an air conditioner?"

"Ha!" Jackie barked from the floor. "Ha, ha ha! Oh, it's adorable how you think I can afford that. Besides, I've gotten through most of the summer already. I don't need to go to extra lengths now."

"Here, you're Highness." He filled her glass, and she gratefully pressed the chill surface against her sweating face.

"Thank you, love!" She sucked happily on the straw. "Cheers."

"So," He sat down next to her, taking a deep draught of his own drink. "Are you going out tonight, spider?"

Jackie peeked up at him, just cracking open an eye. "The answer's no, but that doesn't change that you can't stay here tonight."

"Oh, come on!"

"Nice try, but no."

"Fine. Tease."

"Sod off."

"All right, all right. So, you're staying in tonight?"

"Yeah. Too hot. I would die trying to climb in this humidity. Maybe I will, later, when it's cooler."

Jack reached out and ran a hand down her cheek. She smirked, but shifted away. "Too hot for contact." She whined.

Jack stared at her for a long time. He watched her smile a little, but her eyes were sad and the grin didn't reach them. She sighed and closed her eyes again, letting her smile fall. "It wasn't your fault." He murmured.

"What?"

"About that girl a few days ago, Samantha. You had no choice; she had to go to the home."

Jackie let a slow breath out her nose. "I know." She whispered. "I just wish . . . I wish I never had to subject her to that. Who knows how her life is going to go now?"

"It's okay." He said gently and rested a hand on her shoulder. She shifted away again. The air smelled bad to her; fishy. Something smelled fishy.

Jackie shrugged the feeling away. The rest of the afternoon passed in a hazy, sluggish blur of heat and lemonade. Jack left early, and night fell quietly. The blistering humidity of the afternoon melted into the only slightly less sticky evening. Jackie hadn't moved much, just gradually across the floor and to the bed. She had been laying on top of the covers for going on two hours, still wearing almost nothing. There was an empty pitcher on the table next to her—she had even eaten the ice.

Her head was turned to the window, staring out at the building across and at the strip of stars above. She hated the heat. There was a burning need in her, however irrational, to find Samantha's mother's killer. That person had brought those pains upon that girl—upon that innocent human being who would never again be so. Perhaps it was wrong for her to want vengeance on the life of a woman who was probably sitting at Satan's right hand, but there was more than that; she wanted vengeance on the life that had been further destroyed by this person. Sam had already been cracked by her mother, but the murder was the straw that broke the camel's back. _And now with this bloody heat, I'm stuck in here! _She mused, somewhat frustrated but starting to get tired.

The clank of metal shook Jackie from her thoughtful dozing. She blinked in sleepy confusion at the hook that was latched over the edge of the open window. Jackie yawned and closed her eyes again. Just imagining it. Too dark, too late and hot. This theory was quickly disproven when she heard a pair of shoes tap against the window. Her eyes slid open again, and she was tempted to make good of her previous promise and shove Rorschach right back out the window. However, she was too roasted by the afternoon's heat and now too tired to do much but sit up.

"'Wherefore art thou, Romeo?'" She asked sarcastically, shifting back to lean on the headboard. "What do you want this time? Come to "check on me"?"

"No." Jackie noticed that he kept his head turned pointedly away from her. "Came to take you up on offer."

Jackie's attention stirred. If she had ears, they would have been pricked up. She got up from the bed and danced around so she was in front of Rorschach, and he tilted his head the other way. "Really? Good, great." She checked her watch and grabbed the empty pitcher. "Unfortunately it's just a tad too early and way too hot so we can pick this up tomorrow. Want some lemonade?"

Jackie began measuring out the sugar and water. A few minutes passed, and something began to creep on her thoughts. "Rorschach . . . do you have a place to live?" She stopped with the sugar in her hand and turned. The room was empty, but the grappling hook was still on the window, meaning he had snuck into the kitchen while she had her back turned. A tiny clinking of metal caught her attention, and she spun, careful to keep sugar from scattering everywhere. "Don't touch that!"

Rorschach had lifted a long cloth that was draped over an uneven but organized mess that covered the majority of the kitchen table. He picked up one of the little pieces of metal. "What is this?"

"A new design. Well, old design." She reached over to pluck the little bolt from his fingers, but he pulled away too quickly. It clinked to the table and landed next to a thick book that was turned to an ancient-looking diagram. "I found this while reading through weapons used by different military sects. First used by the Arabic Hashashins." She gently set the bolt back in its designated place and ran her fingers along the uncut strips of leather. "It used to require the loss of your ring finger . . ." She clenched her fist as a demonstration. "The trigger was near the ring finger, and you would to this, and the blade would shoot up right where the finger was. It was in Renaissance Italy where they changed it, so the ring finger's loss wasn't required. Of course, I need to improvise a lot of this myself because the book's diagram is so old, but it's a good idea."

She flicked her wrist. "You do something like this, with a wire on your finger. The blade pulls out of the bracer, a seven-and-a-half inch stiletto. I think it has to be double-sided, too. Then you pull the wire again, and it's back in the bracer." She pulled the cloth back over the miscellaneous, disassembled blade and glanced sharply at Rorschach, who was again not looking at her. "But this is all kind of boring." She moved around him, her neck moving like a snake. He turned his head the other way again. "Why do you keep looking away like that?"

"Indecently dressed." Rorschach grumbled shortly. "Put some clothes on. Look like a whore."

"Huh? Indecent?" Jackie looked down at herself. She didn't look that bad. The tank top may have cut a little low, but it wasn't anything that was too unacceptable. "Hey, it's roasting hot outside. I'm surprised you can go running around in a trench coat in this weather. Besides, this is my house." She turned back to the unfinished lemonade, now a bit grumpy. "Anyway, you never answered my question so I'll answer it instead. Since I'm always climbing around, I leave my window unlocked all the time. If you ever need a place to stay, you can come here. From one vigilante to another, hm?" She turned to smile at him and set the plastic pitcher on the table. "I don't want anything in return, either. My mother successfully drove out my ability to accept gifts without feeling guilty."

Jackie sat and poured two glasses of the lemonade and pushed one at Rorschach. Taking a grateful drink of hers, she almost did a spit take before she remembered she had to move the glass before talking. "Just drink it, all right? It's not poisoned and you can never be too hydrated in this horrible weather."

She leaned her head back, looking at the nondescript ceiling. Sweat was stuck, itching, on the back of her neck. She thought about her schedule for the next day, Monday; Samantha no longer attended lessons for obvious reasons. Jackie pulled a pained expression at the thought of the girl. Jonathan still went, though, which left a lot of time to kill but cut her income in half. Perhaps as a way to pass the day she could stay after. There were always things to draw or music to write. Jackie reached behind her to open a drawer and rifle through it. Taking out a pen and paper, she scratched an address down in short, neat print.

"Here." She pushed the paper over to Rorschach, who had pulled his mask back down after drinking the whole glass of lemonade in what looked like a single gulp. "I won't be out about tomorrow for a while. Go here if you can't find me by nine. I stay late on Mondays and leave from here weekly anyway." Rorschach looked at the piece of paper for a moment, then folded it once and tucked it in his coat.

"Thanks for the drink." He pushed open the window, latching the grappling hook on the windowsill and climbing out.

Far below the building, shoes tapped lightly against the pavement. A few feet away, the hook jumped off the sill with a clank. Jackie sighed, a short little breath of loneliness in the air like steam. "Thanks for the company."

-w-

"One, two, three and four over here . . ." She muttered to herself, playing the notes as she talked. After about a dozen notes she stopped and scribbled her progress on the blank, lined paper. She picked up the coffee on the piano's mantle and took a scalding sip of the black drink. "One, chord, five, six . . . so when were you planning on telling me you were standing there, love?"

"I don't know, you took your time noticing me. Usually I can't even put a foot in the building." Jack slid onto the bench next to her and gave her a predatory grin.

"Sorry. I've been distracted lately." She reached up to scratch more notes on the paper.

"You? Distracted?" Jack said sarcastically.

"Shut up."

"Okay." He observed her for a moment. "Composing again?"

"Helps me think." She set down the sharp pencil and leaned against him, taking a drink of coffee.

"I'm hungry. Let's have dinner." Jack nudged her side with his elbow.

"Sorry, can't. Digestion slows me down, and that's something I don't feel like being tonight."

She could feel his eyes digging into the side of her head. "Don't be her if you're not wearing the mask." He said sternly.

"What?"

"You heard me. Be the Jackie I know, not the woman who beats people to a pulp at night."

Jackie looked out the window at the sun, setting behind the buildings around the studio. "Looks like it's almost night to me."

"That's not what I _meant_!" He stood up so fast the bench scraped the floor and rocked back a little. Fury had contorted his normally kind features. Before Jackie could fully comprehend what was happening, she saw a hand, and pain lashed across her face like a whip. Her vision flashed white for a moment, so vicious was the strike. Without thinking, or caring what she was doing, Jackie leaned back and brought up her foot. She slammed it once, twice into Jack's gut until he doubled over, and then brought it down on his head so he fell to his knees. She stood and pushed him over with her foot before pressing it against his chest. The heel of the shoe was visibly digging into his torso. And then, as quickly as the adrenaline and anger had come, it was gone. Jackie sighed and let him up.

"Just go. We can talk later." She said resignedly. Jack stood up and left without a word, slamming the door closed behind him. Silence filled the studio for a few beats. Jackie listened to her own shaky breathing before sitting heavily and letting out a sharp huff. Her face still burned. Her fingers prodded the flesh tenderly, and she winced. He had really hit her hard.

Jackie looked down at the floor. The little Styrofoam cup of black coffee had splashed everywhere, leaving brownish splotches on the floor. Some dotted the white piano keys. She began to mechanically clean it up using a couple napkins she had collected from her multiple visits to the little diner. Everything still reeked a little of coffee and was a bit damp, but it was better. She wasn't sure how long it took her to do the menial little task. It felt like eternities. When she was done, however, night had fallen.

Her feet dragged her back to the piano and she fell onto the bench again. For a long time she stared at her feet, not knowing what to think. Jack didn't usually act so strangely, much less hit her. It seemed to be a recent change, and she wasn't sure what had incited it. Her eyes glided up to the half-filled-in note paper. In more mechanical motions, she placed her hands in the correct positions and began playing her little song. Her face still burned. The simple notes of the song progressed into a more complex melody, her left hand laying out base tones while her right danced on the higher notes. The sheet ended halfway through the most excitable part of the tune, and she slowed to a stop.

Jackie moved behind the piano and numbly changed out of her professional clothes and into her costume. She pushed the garments under her desk and held her mask in her hand. For a while she stared at the porcelain white face, the empty eyes. Her thumb rubbed the dull silver cheek, the same one that on herself burned with lingering pain. Her body felt empty and numb. There was no anger anymore; it had been replaced with confusion. Jack's mood swing had been so sudden and unprovoked, she wondered what could have caused him to do something so radical.

She set the mask next to her on the bench when she sat down again. Jackie replayed the song and wrote more notes down. After looking the piece over and playing an experimental bit over a few times to make sure it sounded all right, she slid the lid closed over the white keys and laid her knife belt on the black wood. Picking one out, she scraped the smooth stone along its edge. The movement was soothing—it put her mind at ease.

When the knife was sharp enough that she had to be careful while wearing gloves, she looked at her watch and her eyebrows shot up. Nine forty-three.

As her eyes glanced over the face of the watch, she heard a pang on the studio's window. She got up and pulled it up, barely holding back another Romeo and Juliet comment. She nodded at the figure below, went back inside and put on her mask. It was uncomfortable with her hair down, but she hadn't concentrated much on that earlier. Instead she picked up a handful of pins and climbed out the window with three limbs and a few fingers. Using the occupied hand to close the window behind her, she jumped down the building and landed on the pavement.

"Sorry I didn't come out earlier. I was . . . held up." She said, walking after Rorschach. She pulled her mask off again and held it under her arm, pinning her hair back. Her pace slowed drastically as she worked. A few seconds passed before Rorschach apparently realized she wasn't there and came back. Annoyance was radiating off of him like a smell. She pushed the last pin in and looked up again to pull on her mask. The cloth had only barely grazed the top of her head when a gloved hand firmly grasped her chin and turned her head. She stopped walking. "Oi!"

"What is this?" Phalanx could feel him staring at her—it was a little uncomfortable, even without being able to actually _see _him. Rorschach had turned her head so the side on which she had been struck was facing him. She wasn't sure what it looked like at this point, but if she went by how much it still stung, probably bad.

"Nothing." The following glare, even invisible, was enough to make her wince a little. The hand on her chin was now gripping a little too tightly for comfort. "It was just one time. I'm not sure why, he just lost his temper for a second. If it makes you feel any better, I beat the bloody hell out of him." Rorschach let go, and Phalanx rubbed her chin moodily before pulling on her mask. "Where do we start looking?" She hadn't forgotten why they were there.

"Know several places. Three bars, one frequented alleyway. Best bet is on the bars." They turned a corner. "Regulars respond well to interrogation."

"So, torture?"

". . . Yes."

"Well, good." Phalanx stretched and looked up at the sky. She couldn't see the stars. "I'm in a very torture-friendly mood right now."

-w-

The bar they came to first was a short, smoky place. It was nondescript on the outside, but as soon as Rorschach opened the door, the stench of cigarette smoke, alcohol and sweat oozed out of the place so thickly it was almost visible. Phalanx stood a step or two behind Rorschach, wisely letting him go first. When the door opened, the activity in the bar came to a screeching halt. Every patron turned to face the open entrance, the emotions on their faces ranging from annoyed to terrified.

"Hello, boys." Rorschach greeted with a voice that suggested he came here often; it was almost amused. Almost.

A few uneasy glances went around. There was a guy sitting at a back table with his back to them. Rorschach stepped inside, followed by Phalanx. The former looked over the patrons, like a butcher choosing which pig he wanted to use. After a few seconds he walked up to just a random guy and grabbed hold of his wrist.

"Woman murdered in her home a week ago." He gruffly informed the man. "Name of Margaret Jackson. Valuables stolen, had a daughter. Know anything?" Phalanx raised her brows. He had been doing some digging, apparently.

"H-hey, listen, uh, Rorschach," The guy stammered. His hand was clasped around his beer in anxiety. "We don't know nothin' about—AGHH!" A terrible cracking broke the silence as Roschach calmly snapped the man's finger back. Phalanx, meanwhile, was moving between cramped tables and clouds of smoke, gazing over the patrons. They weren't nearly as afraid of her, but kept quiet nonetheless, considering who she had accompanied. After a minute or two of roaming, she came across the man who had turned his back to them.

"What about you?" She snarled at him. "Who killed her? Margaret Jackson?" There was no response. Already slightly riled by the events of earlier in the evening, she reacted by slamming his head straight down on the table. "I asked you a _question." _She spat, circling around to the other end of the table. "I expect a—what the?" Even with his head bowed, she recognized who was sitting in front of her. Renewed anger, for a plethora of reasons, surged in her like a tidal wave.

Out of nowhere, breaking the taut atmosphere of the bar, she chuckled, and grabbed the front of the guy's shirt. "No way. Oh, no way are you getting away with this." She dragged him out of the bar, fast enough that he was barely keeping his footing. She continued out into the street and turned down an alley before promptly slamming him into a wall.

"You scummy little bastard." She growled. "You fucking idiot. You're behind this, aren't you? You killed Sam's mother."

"Hey, I didn't know you knew her until later, all right?" Jack pleaded in his defence. Phalanx turned her head a little at the sound of footsteps, but it was only Rorschach. She then turned back and moved the hand from his shirt to grasp his neck. "That is no excuse." There was a knife out in a moment, pressing against his windpipe. Jack spluttered out excuses and apologies as a thin line of scarlet leaked down the edge of the blade and dripped off the end.

"Why did you do it?"

"Er . . ." Jack looked a little uncomfortable, but it faded as quickly as it came. "Money, mostly. The lady just got in the way."

Phalanx blinked in consideration, anger still boiling under the surface like a pot with a lid on. "I have half a mind to kill you, Jack." She said, a little too calmly. "More than half a mind, considering what happened earlier." She ran the knife from one of his ears to the other, leaving a long, crescent-shaped cut. Jack hissed in pain. Phalanx leaned forward to whisper in his ear. The strong aroma of blood drifted up through her mask. "If I ever see you again, I'll make good on that thought." She threw him to the side, and he stumbled to the ground. As something of an afterthought, she kicked him, hard, in the gut. Jack grunted in pain and got up, glancing at her over his shoulder. The look he passed Phalanx was one of such unbridled hatred that she could almost feel it. Then, holding his bleeding throat, he shuffled off around the corner and was gone.

Phalanx felt herself falling away. Her skin burned still in fury, but it was cooling fast. The adrenaline was freezing over now, and a chill rattled up her arms and spine. The toxic stench of betrayal was consuming her. Only once before had she ever allowed anyone, friend or otherwise, inside her inner ring of thoughts. Her secrets, her emotions, her life; she had laid these out in front of this one man. Then this happens. Exactly what she had been fighting the past few months to try and exterminate had been living under her floorboards the whole time.

She stared blankly at the brick wall in front of her for some time, not moving hardly an inch. After a few moments she turned curtly on her heel and clambered into a windowsill, then jumped across the alley to the fire escape and walked up the rest of the way.

She still couldn't see the stars.


	6. Charge

_Now, there's been a significant change in Jackie/Phalanx since last we saw her. It's been a while. Also, I know there's some stuff in here that intersects with the video game. Never played it, never will. I just wanted something to keep things going until things _really _get going. _

_Sorry about all the songs in this chapter…I feel like they're necessary, but you can skip 'em if you want. The Beatles will be prancing alongside Yann Tiersen in this story, but for a better reason because I'm not fucking history in the arse to do so. There's another song that I wanted to use, but after doing a bit of research, I found that it would make no sense, and if there's one thing I want chronologically correct in this story, it's at least the release date of Beatles' songs. __**WHEW. A/N OVER**__._

_Music: "Lazy Eye" _by the Silversun Pickups for this very first bit, then _"Black Leaf Falls" _by Sea Wolf for the scene change, which should end about in time for "_The Baudelaire Orphans" _by Thomas Newman. Since that's a short song, do _"The Wolf" _by Fever Ray right next. Then finally, in the last part she's playing The Beatles' _"Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)". _

_-w-__Two Years Later__-w-_

"Cat!" Jackie gasped and looked up, suspended an arm's length above her floor. She glared around for several moments, then, seeing nothing, continued doing push-ups, counting lowly under her breath. She had done a dozen before she heard a pattering of paws and a thump of her bed sheets. Shoving herself up again, Jackie glared up at her bed, blinking past salty drops of sweat. Nothing. Muttering to herself again, she lowered her body to the ground, hovering, before going up again. Then there, almost nose-to-nose with her was the skinny feline, staring at her with its clever green eyes. She started, losing her concentration, and her arm flew out from under her.

"Agh!" Jackie smacked against the chill floor, scowling. She jumped up and snatched Oscar up in her arms. The room was instantly filled with maniacal laughter, hissing, yowling, and then more laughter. Jackie looked down at her hand, where the cat had clamped its little jaws on her flesh; the creature had long ago learned that it was okay to play rough. Jackie smiled and rubbed the old cat's soft throat. He paused, then let go of her. After what seemed like a moment of consideration, it began licking the bleeding skin with its sandpaper tongue.

Jackie checked her watch, then looked out the window and yawned. Time for coffee. Sloppily pulling back her hair, she grabbed her coat and shuffled out of the little apartment. Somewhere in the same complex, she heard children screaming, though whether in joy or not she couldn't tell. Before she got outside she turned up her collar against the autumn wind, shivering. The morning was early and dim, a chill breeze whipping down the streets. A few blocks down to the diner, she stopped at a newspaper stand and began searching her pockets for change.

"Hello," She said neutrally. "Can I have a _Gazette_?"

"Sure." The vendor said in a thick New York accent, grabbing a paper and taking her cash. "Heard about that Twilight Lady? She's causing all sorts o' trouble."

Jackie shook her head and read the headline. It was about Nixon running for President. Just below was another article about some sort of costumed villain named the Twilight Lady. Jackie scanned the text for a moment before turning to continue down the street. "Thank—ooof!"

She slammed into someone face-first. She held her paper protectively against herself and took a few steps back. Her breath created a small cloud of fog in the morning air. "Oop—god, sorry, my fault." The guy was a little shabbily dressed and seemed about her age if not slightly older by about a year or two. He wasn't terribly attractive, but Jackie couldn't seem to look away from him. He had a short, uneven plop of almost startlingly orange hair on his head. She blinked, and then broke out in a bright smile.

"Hey, great hair." She grinned as she continued walking down the street and glanced over her shoulder. He was still staring at her, really _staring, _with a most perplexing, intense look upon his face. Surprise, almost. Jackie kept walking, thinking little of the encounter, and neatly folded her paper. She bought her coffee and walked back to her old studio. Pale light shone softly through the windows, casting faded shadows across the shiny wood floor. Her piano sat at the far end, just where it always was. Jackie happily dashed across the room and jumped onto the worn bench, setting her cuppa on the top of the piano. She gave the dark wood a little peck and opened the lid.

"Hello, lovely." She greeted, rolling her fingers along the chipped ceramic keys. Jackie laughed and turned around to rest her back on the open piano, snapping open her paper and reading about Nixon's inauguration. Taking a long sip of searing hot, completely black coffee, her grin widened until it hurt.

-w-

Jackie was reclined on her bed, reading a book titled _Strategy and War: Rome. _Oscar was on her belly, purring contentedly as she rubbed behind his soft ears. The setting sun cast beams of orange and gold light through her window. As she reached the next chapter, concerning the command and control structure of the Roman troops, she yawned, rolled her neck and checked her watch. Sighing, she looked out her window as the sun slid behind the buildings opposite. Night fell quickly and coldly, the chill air infecting her bedroom like a plague. Leo stood up and strutted up to Jackie's face to curl up once more in the crook of her neck. Jackie gave the cat a little kiss on the top of the head.

"I'm sorry, love." She murmured to the animal. "It's time for me to go." Liquorice blinked lazily and looked away from her, seeming to be almost mad. "Oh, fine then, be like that." Jackie stood up, setting Leo down on her pillow. She crouched down and pulled her costume from under her bed, setting it on top.

When she straightened, she noticed a new set of little bumps on her windowsill. Or, she thought they were just bumps. Frowning, Jackie flicked on the lamp by her bedside and moved to the window. When she got there, she had to bite the inside of her lip to keep from laughing. Below her was Rorschach, in the middle of pulling himself up into her apartment, as per usual. Jackie grinned and held out her hand. After a moment of silent consideration, Rorschach accepted the hand, and Jackie pulled him inside.

"So, what's the occasion this time?" She asked trench-coated man. She tossed her costume behind her changing screen, a little thing decorated with bamboo that she had bought on discount. At this point, she could practically _hear _Rorschach turning around. "You usually only come 'round when there's an occasion."

"Daniel and I picked up clue on Twilight Lady's location. Going in to find her tonight."

"Aw, and you wanted me to tag along? How considerate of you." Her silhouette tossed her top over the screen and began putting on her costume. "Hm, Twilight Lady. I read that she has some sort of weird thing for Dan, right?" Jackie poked her head around the edge of the screen to see Rorschach shrug indifferently. To her very, very great surprise, he hadn't completely turned his back to her. Jackie frowned. "That's odd."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." She disappeared behind the screen and began putting on her trousers. "Usually you're as far from me as physically possible whenever I'm in anything less than something that covers more than half of my skin. Feeling a 'it fofial daday, ah ve?" She stepped out from behind the screen, her last words mumbled by a handful of pins in her mouth. "Fo, adout 'his Twiwight Wady—_yowch!_" Jackie yelped as all the pins clattered from her mouth. She pulled one from her hair and glared at it. "Damn, that smarts . . . anyway, how do we intend on getting to her? I assume the plan consists of, 'barge in and hope things don't completely go down the drain'?" She finished putting the pins on her hair, and before Rorschach could answer, a ladder clattered down next to her window.

"Ah, that'll be Dan." Jackie pulled her mask on and stepped onto and over her bed to the window. Opening it, she leaned out a dangerous distance, almost only holding on by her knees, and waved up at the far-off Owlship. A little figure in one of the yellow windows waved back. Phalanx leapt from the apartment and snatched hold of the ladder, pulling herself up at lightning speed. About three-fourths up, she couldn't feel anyone behind her. She looped her legs in the rope and let go, falling so her back was against the thin rungs, and expected to see Rorschach a distance behind her.

"Oh!" She laughed, contradicting the face of her mask. "You're right there, didn't see you." Rorschach, who she could almost see glaring at her, grabbed his fedora so it wouldn't blow off as the ladder swayed recklessly to and fro. Phalanx flipped herself back up and they clambered up the rest of the way to the ship, the wind howling and pushing them around. Phalanx jumped into the Owlship, chuckled and shook Nite Owl's hand.

"Good to be here, Dan." She greeted. "Out to catch another bad guy, eh?"

Dan smiled. "Something like that."

"Good—great! So, what sort of hint did you pick up?" Phalanx plopped herself down on the floor against a wall and hugged her knees against her chest.

"It was Rorschach that picked up on it. He interrogated a worrying amount of people." Nite Owl answered as said vigilante joined them in the Owlship. "Someone said Twilight Lady was hiding out in a, eh, a BDSM elite club."

Phalanx looked up at Nite Owl with an incredulous look in her eyes. "A _BDSM _club? Seriously?"

"Yeah." Daniel nodded to Rorschach and sat down at the pilot's seat as Rorschach began pulling up the ladder. "A BDSM club. It's disguised as an old mansion. Serious people go there, public figures. We can't have her blackmailing them or worse."

"A-ha!" Phalanx jabbed a finger at Rorschach, seemingly out of the blue. "Oh, I was right! We're just going to barge in and hope things don't go down the drain!"

Dan laughed as the ship zoomed up and away. "More or less."

Phalanx reclined on the floor for a bit longer before jumping up and peering out the window. New York drifted by below, lights from windows winking yellow and flickering with different colours from people watching the telly. Phalanx pressed her face as close to the glass as she could, watching the streets and lights and tiny people on the sidewalks.

"I never got to see London like this," She murmured in reminiscence, just a breath that even she could barely hear. "I wish I could have. Seeing things from a different perspective . . ."

It took about twenty minutes to reach the hideout, which really was an old Gothic mansion, complete with classic architecture and spiked fence. They flew past it about a block, and Rorschach let the ladder down again.

"I'll go land Archie." Nite Owl said. "You two go ahead, find a way in, and wait for me."

Phalanx and Rorschach slid down the ladder and dropped off on the ground. Neither looked back up at the Owlship. They walked along in the cold autumn air toward the mansion, saying nothing, as nothing now needed be said. When they reached the tall gate, Phalanx sighed and rolled her neck. The joints popped loudly, and she did the same with her fingers and shoulders while Rorschach inspected the lock and chain on the fence. He gave it a sharp yank, to no avail.

"Why would the gate be locked at this time of night? Isn't this a club?" Phalanx inquired quietly, peering up at the building.

"Probably tipped off about us." Rorschach grumbled, rummaging in his pockets for something.

"Way ahead of you." Phalanx called from the top of the fence. "You know, I really hate these sharp, pointy bits." She tapped a gloved finger on one of the razor tips before carefully putting both her legs on the other side and dropping down. She landed hard, but her only expression was the squinting of her eyes as she grimaced under the mask.

Seconds later, Rorschach finished picking the lock and pushed open the gate and closed it behind them. The duo crept up the path, Phalanx dancing silently ahead while Rorschach plodded on behind, looking around the wide, trimmed yard. The former darted up to the door and peered inside the peephole.

"I don't see anything!" She whispered, dark iris flicking around, seeing nothing but darkness. She turned around and stepped aside for Rorschach. He easily kicked open the door, which swung open on oiled hinges. Phalanx jumped into the darkness, vanishing almost the second she stepped over the threshold. She stumbled on something, stubbing her toe in the process. Cursing under her breath, she blinked furiously in the attempt to see where she was going.

"Rorschach!" She whispered, waving her hands in front of her wildly. "Tell me you have a torch in that black hole of a coat!" Almost as soon as the words left her mouth, a beam of white light cut blindingly through the darkness. "Brilliant."

Now with light, Phalanx had a chance to look around. The room was a small foyer that led into a larger main room, which was decorated with purple drapes hanging from the walls and ceiling, the floor covered with pillows. There were dozens of metal hooks on the walls, ceiling and floor for god-knows-what. The more rooms they moved through, the more depraved the decorations seemed to get. The two vigilantes quickly worked their way through the mansion, Phalanx leading and Rorschach providing light. As the former stepped onto yet another staircase, she heard a scuffle behind her. In the same second, she was armed and turned around, peering in the flickering light as the torch waved wildly before settling.

"How did I know you two weren't going to wait?" Nite Owl muttered, sounding amused nonetheless.

"I didn't even hear that part." Phalanx relaxed, but didn't sheathe her knives. "I thought the plan was to just barge in and hope things don't go down the drain."

"Well, maybe we should think things through—" Dan started, but was interrupted by someone else.

"Well _hello, _lady and gentlemen." A voice purred from the top of the stairs. The three below turned to look, Rorschach's torch flashing up to illuminate the figure above, which was unnecessary, as the chandelier above them suddenly burst with light. At the top of the stairs was Twilight Lady, scantily clad and carrying her signature riding crop and beehive of ginger hair. "I suppose you're looking for me?"

Phalanx stepped calmly to the side, and Rorschach tore past her up the stairs. The Brit happily followed, knives drawn, with Nite Owl bringing up the rear. Twilight Lady fled, running back into the maze of velveteen rooms. They whipped around corners and through narrow, obscured passageways. Slowly working their way higher in the tall building, Phalanx was getting fed up with just running around in the cramped, dim building. Spying a window, she darted over and slammed the pane open, leaning out to look up the face of the building. Rorschach and Nite Owl continued forward, both seemingly oblivious to her disappearance. Phalanx stepped onto the ledge and pounced up the building, pleased with the amount of easy handholds on the old Gothic structure.

When she reached the roof, she wasted no time in pulling a length of twine from her belt and tying it between the two white pillars that were placed on either side of the door. Phalanx pulled a knife out and gave it a quick, nervous sharpen. She moved to stand to the right of the door, invisible to anyone coming through. A few minutes of tense waiting, and the door slammed open with a mighty crash. Twilight Lady dashed through and tripped over the twine, skidding to the ground. Rorschach stopped suddenly to avoid making the same mistake Twilight Lady had, Nite Owl running comically into his back.

Phalanx leapt forward with a bark of victorious laughter, but just when she got within arms' reach the woman leapt up, faster than Phalanx had expected. Before the latter could get over her shock, a tall boot smashed across her face, shifting her mask slightly and throwing her a few feet to the side.

Phalanx let out a long stream of ugly profanities as she stumbled away, hissing like a wild animal. She heard quick footsteps and a hand on her shoulder, then Dan's voice. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." Phalanx pushed her mask back into position, no longer in such a good mood. "Slippery whore will get what's coming to her."

"You sound like Rorschach." Nite Owl muttered as said vigilante joined them.

"Do I?" Phalanx chirped, malice gone like a bad smell. She looked at Rorschach. "Do I sound like you?"

Rorschach pointed at the confident-looking Twilight Lady. "We have bigger problems."

"Oh, fine." Phalanx pulled out a longer, curved knife, but Rorschach stepped forward, obviously agitated.

"Will deal with her myself. She is corrupting the youth and deserves to pay."

All present knew exactly how Rorschach dealt with criminals, and this seemed to make Nite Owl suddenly very nervous. He stepped forward to stop Rorschach. All the while, Twilight Lady looked on with a bemused expression.

"Uh, let's not get hasty, Rorschach. I mean, there has to be a way to talk this out, right?" He looked to Twilight Lady. "Right?"

"No." Rorschach said firmly and started forward again.

"But . . . there has to be something we can do—"

"Daniel, this is not up for debate—"

Just as the argument seemed about to come to blows, the bickering was interrupted by a gasp of pain and a thump as someone struck the floor. Both male vigilantes looked to see Twilight Lady crumpled on the roof, scarlet leaking from her middle, with a short, gleaming knife lodged in her abdomen. Nite Owl let out a small cry and rushed over to the dominatrix, who seemed to be injured but still alive. Rorschach looked back at Phalanx, the latter of whom was climbing over the railing. She stopped and rested her chin on her arms, balanced on a ledge below. She looked at Nite Owl and Twilight Lady, then back to Rorschach, and gave a little beckoning gesture. _Leave them be. _

Glancing down, Phalanx slipped down the building, wandered back to the entrance to the mansion and waited patiently for Rorschach. When he emerged, the two walked back out the gate to the estate and finished their patrols in silence.

-w-

Jackie frowned down at her fingers as she pressed them on the white keys, playing the first Beatles song she had heard on the radio. After finding it moving, she began trying to play the entire piece by ear. It wasn't hard, but it wasn't very easy either. The night was dark and she hadn't listened to the song in two days, making it hard to concentrate. Despite common sense, the pianist found herself longing for caffeine. Yawning, she tried a different chord to see if it sounded right for a verse. As she did so, she looked up at the calendar across from her. There was something about today, something that was supposed to be important . . .

As she was thinking, a quick rapping on the door shook her awake. "We're closed." She called sleepily.

"Maybe a private lesson?"

Jackie blinked, and in a rush it all came back to her. In a flash she was up and threw open the door. On the other side was a small, young woman, more petite than Jackie, and Jackie was by no means tall or big. Bright blond hair was cut primly under her ears, and her face was round and cherub-like. She had slightly large front teeth, so the overall effect was something like talking with a blond chipmunk.

"Oh my _god _you're _back_." Jackie's jaw almost dropped. After getting over her shock, the two women laughed and embraced. "I can't believe it, I almost forgot you existed!"

"It's wonderful to see you again, Jack-Jack!" The small woman gushed. "And come now, you could really forget about me?"

"Well, not really." Jackie admitted. "No one really forgets you, Lucy."

"Of course not!" The woman squealed happily. "Now, for the real reason I came back—let's go get a pint."

-w-

_Review! _


	7. Chaos and Dust

_When I write these earlier scenes and feel that Rory dear is slightly OOC, I try to keep in mind that he really didn't become the Rorschach we all know and love until 1975. Right now I believe the year is '68/'69, so he still sort of has a…personality(?). There's also another skip in time, but not as long as the last one. I just kind of need to keep things going. __**REVIEW**__ if you think it gets too confusing._

_Music: _Okay! So, _"container park" _by the Chemical Brothers for the first scene, _"Le Jours Tristes [Instrumental] _by, you guessed it, Yann Tiersen for the second, _"Hero" _by Regina Spektor for the shortest part and the part after, _"My Dear Acquaintance" _by Regina Spektor for New Year's, and then the obvious _"Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" _by the Beatles for the end.

Two women trotted along a street in New York. They weren't being loud or obnoxious for the hour. They talked quietly, occasionally laughing in the chill night. Streams of fog floated in their wake, the sharp tapping of their shoes accompanying their chatter.

"You came across the Atlantic to have a drink with me?" Jackie asked with a smirk, then a chuckle. "I suppose I should be flattered."

"Well, not the only reason." Lucy replied, shrugging. "Gets a bit insufferable to stick with relatives for long periods of time. Thought I'd come back for a few more years."

"Ta." Jackie said, putting her hands in her pockets and feeling a strange object there that she hadn't paid mind to in a good year or two. "Huh, look at this." She withdrew a little box of cigarettes and a black lighter from her pocket and looked at them curiously.

"What? Just your cigarettes, right?" Lucy said casually, not sparing the things a second glance.

"Yeah. I haven't smoked in about three years, though. So much has been going on, I suppose I just forgot about it." Jackie said thoughtfully, turning them over.

"Good on you. More than I can say for myself." Lucy plucked one of the little white sticks from the crumpled packaging. Jackie reached over and lit it with her old lighter. "Thanks. Hey, let's go in here."

The two women turned into a small pub with a flashing neon sign that Jackie didn't read. The inside was dim and smoky, but the atmosphere seemed all right and non-threatening. Only the gangly bartender looked up when they entered. The patrons at the bar kept their eyes on their drinks. A few groups of two or three people sat at the tables, muttering and chuckling together. Lucy made a beeline to the bar and sat down a seat away from another guy. Jackie sat next to her friend, still looking over her shoulder.

"Can I have a glass of red wine?" The blonde asked as the bartender shuffled over.

"Sure." He looked to Jackie.

"I'll take a gin and tonic."

"Coming right up, ladies." The guy walked away.

"We're sticking with the ground rules again, Lu." Jackie drawled nonchalantly.

"You're no fun!" Lucy whined quietly. "Come on, I haven't seen you in—"

"Three and a half years changes nothing, love. I control the tab_, _and then I'm walking you back to the studio and you can sleep there. No one-night stands with anyone, no driving yourself home, and absolutely _no _getting sloshed. I've always played the responsible one and I don't think I'll stop now."

"Fine." Lucy huffed and accepted her glass of wine, taking a long sip. Jackie grabbed her drink and drank it in one breath. When she swallowed she put down the glass and scrunched up her face.

Her friend laughed at Jackie's face. "Not enough gin?"

"It's mostly tonic." She muttered sourly. "What bloody git gave that idiot his job?"

"Calm down, Jack-Jack." Lucy chuckled. Jackie mumbled something under her breath before calling over the bartender, now with specific instructions on the g-to-t ratio. Lucy sighed as the guy skittered off, hurriedly making another drink. "You're the only person I know that's so calm about everything, yet almost cuts off someone's head if they mix your g and t wrong."

"It isn't that hard!" Jackie hissed. "It's gin, and bubbly water! Two steps!" She took her new drink and sipped it experimentally. "Much better. Thanks." She reached into her wallet and pulled out a twenty. "Here's your tip ahead of time. Just start up a tab."

Half an hour later, Jackie was only on her second drink, and Lucy was on another glass of wine, probably her fifth, now talking louder and giggling at almost any word that came out of Jackie's mouth. The latter gave up trying to talk to her friend and let her babble without really listening. At one point the guy sitting a seat away leaned over with a smirk.

"She's a talkative one, huh?" He said, slurring a little. Jackie's eyes darted around him, narrowing and reading.

"Keep away from her." She growled, turning back to her drink.

"Hey, I never said I was talking about her, kitty." He grumbled. Jackie felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Keep away from me." She said more forcefully, smacking his hand away. The guy grumbled something, but turned away and didn't bother them again. A few minutes later he paid his tab and stumbled out. Jackie and Lucy both stayed for a while after, but the former called it off and paid for their drinks. Picking Lucy up out of her seat, she gave a little wave to the bartender and shouldered her friend out.

As they began down the street, a hand grabbed painfully hard around Jackie's upper arm and yanked her sharply to the side. She yelped a little bit in surprise, getting torn away from Lucy and into a narrow alley. Quickly overcoming her surprise, Jackie glared up at the person she now recognized to be the bloke from earlier.

"You know, I wasn't really asking." He growled threateningly in her ear. Jackie thrust out a fist, right into his soft belly. The man coughed sharply and doubled over, but moved his hand to keep a firm grip on her throat, pressing her against a wall.

"Lucy," Jackie gasped, pointing forcefully at her friend. The man's other hand was getting dangerously close to places she did not at all want them to be. "Whatever happens next you need to stay _right there, _do you understand?" The woman whimpered, but nodded and leaned against a wall. Once Jackie knew she was going to stay out of it, she reached up to the man's arm that was on her throat and decisively snapped it. The man cried out and stumbled back, holding his broken limb. Jackie swept a foot under him, and then gave him a sharp kick to the side.

"Get yourself to a hospital." She spat, then walked out of the alley and patted Lucy's shoulder before tossing the blonde's arm over her shoulders and helping her walk steady.

When they arrived back at her studio, Jackie helped Lucy to a corner of the room and tossed a blanket from behind her desk on top of her. Then she went back to her piano and sat at the bench, put her chin in her hand and her elbow on the closed keys, and promptly fell asleep.

-w-

"You're a lesbian."

Jackie paused in her work. She was putting the final, intricate touches to her blade contraption, hunched over the half-dissected gauntlet with a thin metal rod she used to poke the various mechanisms. Her hair was sticking up at odd angles, carelessly pushed away so she could work unhindered. The newspaper on the counter blared headlines on the Presidential election and Vietnam and Dr Manhattan. Rorschach was sitting across from her, his chair kicked back against her wall and his fedora sitting on the counter. He seemed to be watching her, but she was never sure. The question he had posed, however, was so random and relatively personal that she couldn't help but wonder at it.

"Where did you get that idea?" She asked him, straightening up.

"Saw you with that woman yesterday. Seemed _very_ friendly." The other vigilante answered bluntly. Jackie wondered if he ever answered anything with any other tone of voice.

"Lucy? She's my friend, not my lover." Jackie pulled the trigger on the gauntlet. The blade slid smoothly out, but got caught by something and jammed halfway through. "Oh, hell's bells." Jackie stood up, exasperated and craving more tea. "And for your information, I'm not a lesbian."

Rorschach didn't reply as Jackie filled up the kettle and set it on the stove. She set a tea bag in her mug and turned to lean on the counter, fiddling with a pin in her hair. After a few minutes of silence she wandered back to the gauntlet and tugged the trigger again. The knife inside shot forward, again, and got jammed, again. She released the trigger and the blade slid back inside the leather. After repeating this a few times, an idea snuck into her mind.

"So, you followed me to the bar last night?" She asked with a smirk.

"No. I just saw you."

"Ah. I thought you were that bloke for a second, but then you would be wearing a cast."

"What?" Rorschach asked, looking at her a bit more directly.

"Oh. Some duffer at the pub last night. He caught up to me and Lucy after we left and tried to . . . well." She paused and glanced down, but it didn't last long. "I broke his arm and probably a couple ribs. Put me in a bad mood the rest of the night."

Rorschach's reply, if he had had one, was cut off by the whistling of the kettle. Jackie turned off the flame and poured the water. Yawning, she steeped the tea until it was black and took a sip, smiling. She gazed down at her long-suffering device, half-pulled apart and still incomplete after years, before her gaze drifted up to the window. The last few beams of soft orange were fading, to be replaced by the deep blue of the night.

"Do you ever wonder if we do the right thing, Rorschach?" She murmured, taking a small sip of tea.

"No. What we do is right. It has always been right. It will always be right." He replied without hesitation.

"Yes, but you can't do this forever. I can't, you can't, no one can." She sat next to him with a sigh, stretching her legs under the table. Jackie set her tea down and looked seriously at Rorschach, her voice now dropped even lower, sadder. "What will you do when you can't fight anymore?"

"Nothing. I will die before that happens."

Jackie was taken aback by his answer, though in retrospect she shouldn't have been so surprised. She smirked dryly. "I expected nothing else from you, Rorschach." She stood back up and moved back to her gauntlet with her earl grey. She took her little rod and pulled away the front of the dark leather, peering down into the pieces of meticulously structured invention.

"Oh, here's the problem . . ." Jackie muttered, setting down her little tool and picking up two even more delicate pieces of metal. Carefully, holding her breath, she secured the line in the blade to the tiny pulley system near the wrist section of the blade. Once she was somewhat sure that it was in place, Jackie dropped her tools and took a deep breath. After a moment of deliberation, she reached out and gave the trigger a little, fearful pull. The long knife inside shot out completely, smoothly, and when she let go it retracted again.

"Ha!" Jackie jumped out of her seat, laughing manically. "Ah, I've done it!" She danced past Rorschach and into her room, where she grabbed up Leo and shook the cat happily. "I've done it, Cat!" Throwing the animal back on the bed, she pranced back to the kitchen and grabbed Rorschach's hand, spinning herself in a circle as if they were dancing, even though the other participant was like a statue. The kitchen smelled like tea, and the orange sun's light had vanished, creating a dark twilight in the apartment. The completed gauntlet was on the table like the shining diamond in her coal mine of a house. She almost felt like crying with joy—so she did. Not sobbing or anything like that; just tiny little tears that were almost invisible, and dashed down her high cheekbones.

Jackie made a little, teary laugh and sat down with a sniff. Rubbing her eyes and chuckling, she sighed, "Okay. I think I'm done now. Sorry."

"For what?" The rumble of Rorschach's voice made her blink and look up. It was a strangely grounding sound.

"Because . . . oh, I don't know! Because I'm acting like a bleeding idiot." Jackie checked her watch and took a last drink from her tea before standing. "Time to go."

As she was walking into the bedroom to change, she felt a hand tightly grab her upper arm. She stopped and looked at Rorschach. There was no way to tell the expression behind his ever-changing lava lamp mask, but the message was clear enough.

"I'm fine. I'm just being silly." Jackie smiled and gently pulled Rorschach's gloved fingers off her arm with her free hand. "But that kind of hurts." Rorschach dropped his arm at lightning speed and took a short step back.

Jackie smirked and trotted behind her screen, her shirt half way off before she was hidden. "So," She sang, throwing the garment over the screen. "Anywhere particular tonight or just the rounds as normal? You find all sorts of great places to clear out and all that, and I admit I'm eager to try my absolute _brilliant_ little invention because _I _think I've really outdone myself this time."

Phalanx pushed aside the screen, now dressed in her costume, and bounded into the kitchen, gleefully grabbing up her gauntlet and strapping it on her right forearm. Giving it a few more tests, she jumped back into the living room and right out the window. "Come on, then!" She called down. "Baddies aren't out there catching themselves!"

-w-

Baddies were most certainly catching themselves. Phalanx stood on the top of a tall building, looking down at the city lights. She smiled behind her mask, loving that she was in no rush whatsoever. Criminals were sprinting down the street, heading in the directions of the nearest prisons. Phalanx turned around and picked up her tea, taking a satisfying sip of it. She stepped through the door to the kitchen, and her senses were instantly assaulted in every way. The smell of eggs and sausage, and those absolutely _lovely _beans. Everything was illuminated with golden sunlight. Dashing excitedly into the kitchen, she clung to the leg of a woman, whining about something.

"Jacqueline, please, I'm cooking." A warm voice hummed from above.

"But I'm _hungry_." Jackie moaned. "When will breakfast be done?"

"Soon enough, love. Now, go run and play with Lucy 'til I'm done." Jackie released the leg and ran off, back through the kitchen doorway. She fiddled with the trigger on her gauntlet and looked down over the city again.

Smiling at the person next to her, she murmured, "Hello." She leaned against the person, whose identity she was only vaguely sure of. "Good to see you." Her voice was garbled and strange, like she was speaking underwater.

Stepping down off the rooftop, she strode across the studio to her piano and sat down on the bench. She smiled down at her old keys, which shifted and moved like a lava lamp, but never mixed. She set her fingers on the keys, and the floor dropped out from under her. Her stomach flipped as she plummeted down, down, until she plunged into something cold. Water. She clawed to the top, but when she got there, the surface was covered in ice inches thick. Her nails scratched vainly at the ice, wearing down until her fingers bled into the water. Freezing water poured into her lungs and darkness consumed her sight.

-w-

Jackie gasped loudly, almost screamed, a huge inhale as she jerked straight up. Cold sweat coated her skin in a thin, sticky sheen that was barely visible in the dim light before the dawn. Jackie took deep breaths, running a hand through her hair to push it out of her face. She couldn't seem to take in enough oxygen. It had been years since she had ever dreamed that vividly before. Jackie heaved in a few more breaths and threw back the sheets to sit on the edge of her bed.

Leo jumped up on her knees, little claws pricking her skin. Jackie scratched his ears, and the sleek animal purred in contentment. Cat clambered up her arm to sit on her shoulder as Jackie stood, leaving little scratches on the pale skin. The woman walked to the window and threw it open, letting the chill autumn air fill the apartment. For a while she leaned on the frame, gazing out at the night. There was no way she was going to go back to sleep. Cat slinked around to perch on her opposite shoulder when Jackie bowed her head, staring down at her clasped hands. Letting out a long, winded sigh, she pushed herself off the sill and went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

-w-_Four Months Later_-w-

A champagne glass hurtled through the air. It cartwheeled, end-over-end, across the room. Little drops of honey-coloured liquid jumped off the rim when it pointed down. Lights hung around the room reflected off its curved, crystalline surface. A thin hand reached up and cleanly plucked it from the air and in the same move filled it to the brim.

"Lucy," Jackie warned, handing the glass of bubbly back to her friend. "I'm not a Retriever, this isn't a game of fetch."

Lucy giggled. "Well, you could have just let it drop."

"And scuff my nice floors? You're mad." Jackie tilted back the bottle and took a swig. She checked her watch. "It's eleven twenty, Lu, and I don't want you wasted before midnight."

"Ah, where's the fun in that?" The woman laughed, finished off her glass and threw it at Jackie again. The latter rolled her eyes and grabbed it again, filled it and gave it back to Lucy.

"Hey, don't be like that." Lucy's boyfriend of about a year, who had travelled back from England with her friend, had come along to Jackie's New Year's party, much to her displeasure. She had no real like of the guy, and she wanted to spend time with her friend.

"I know how you act after you've put back a few, and I kind of want you awake for New Year's." Jackie grumbled, taking another drink. God knew she needed it. She would play on the piano, but she needed one eye on Lucy at all times. Who knew when she was going to throw glasses? On the piano she was a sitting duck. As she considered the possibility of being smashed over the head with a champagne glass, said glass jumped across the room again and Jackie caught it, frowning. "That's it, I'm cutting you off."

"But—"

"Nope. Here's a cracker, amuse yourself for a few minutes." Her friend pulled the cracker apart with a pop, confetti sprinkling everywhere.

Jackie hummed a little laugh and took another drink. She was starting to feel quite a bit tipsy. Her gaze dropped over to her window on instinct. Standing, she stepped over and opened the window, letting a few fat flakes of snow drift in with a gust of freezing air. Lights were on in almost every window, the silhouettes of party-goers flashing around. Smiling, she glanced down at her watch, and noticed something else. Down on the pavement below was a single figure, trudging along in the relatively shallow snow. Jackie squinted, then turned back to Lucy.

"Lucy, stay right there. Don't touch the piano. I'll be back in two ticks." Her friend nodded, hooking her arm with her boyfriend's. Jackie gave them a stern look before clambering out the window and skidding down the studio building.

"Oi! You with the face!" Jackie had to lift her feet a little higher to get through the snow. She hadn't dressed out, obviously, and her tee wasn't much to ward against the wind. Rorschach turned around at her call.

"It's cold outside. Shouldn't you be indoors?" He asked, almost reproachfully.

"Shouldn't you? It's New Year's Eve, Rorschach. Aren't you going to celebrate even a little?" She rubbed her arms a little.

"No."

"Oh, no you don't. Let's go." She grabbed his hand and began tugging him along, back to the studio. To her amused surprise, he didn't protest as much as she thought he would. When they were right under her window, Jackie reached into the top inside pocket of his coat where he kept the grappling hook, and gave it to him.

"Are you climbing up?" He asked.

"Nah, I'll take the easy way." The grappling hook rocketed up with perfect aim and landed on the open studio window. Jackie grabbed the rope and began easily pulling herself up, blinking against the sudden onslaught of wet snow. She quickened her pace and eventually toppled inside the studio with a laugh. As she brushed herself off, Rorschach hesitantly lowered himself in after her.

"It's all right; we're not going to—_damn it, Lucy!" _Jackie snarled after ducking to avoid being probably killed by a flying champagne bottle. The green glass shattered against the wall behind her, leaving a small scrape on the plaster and scattering razor shards across the floor. Her friend laughed hysterically, throwing and arm around her boyfriend.

"Oh my god, you thould haf sheen your face!" Lucy giggled, doubled over. Jackie didn't find it as funny.

Running a hand down her face, she turned to start picking up larger pieces of glass. "You can leave if you want." She muttered to Rorschach. "This was a bad idea. Ow!" She flinched sharply, the glass in her hand tinkling down again. A thin stream of blood oozed down her wrist. Grumbling, she stood, holding her cut hand, and walked around to her desk, where she rummaged through the drawers for bandages. Smears of blood were left on her desk. Pulling out the clean cloth, she awkwardly tried to wrap her own hand when the bandages were neatly snatched away from her.

"Give me that." Rorschach growled, sounding annoyed. In just a few seconds he had tightly wrapped the cloth around the cut and tied it off.

"Thanks." Jackie rubbed the bandage. It still stung. She glanced at her watch and raised her eyebrows. "Eleven fifty-nine." Even as she said it, the minute hand ticked another millimetre. "Midnight. Happy New Year, 1969."

"Did you thay New Year?" Lucy called drunkenly. She laughed and sang, "Happy New Year! Kiss shomebody!" Before promptly leaning over and giving her boyfriend a good snog. Jackie sighed and grabbed a broom and dustbin. As she walked back to the glass across her floor, she brushed past Rorschach. The midnight minute slowed as she looked to the side, at his expressionless, shifting mask. The side of her mouth slid up into a small smile.

Time resumed its normal pace. Jackie stalked around behind her piano to sweep the glass into the bin. Lucy and her boyfriend broke apart with an obnoxious smack. Neither had noticed Rorschach's presence. Jackie finished sweeping the green shards into the bin and put it back next to her desk.

The next half hour passed slowly. Jackie reluctantly played fetch with Lucy and her champagne glass, talking lowly with Rorschach. It was a mostly one-sided conversation. She had made a pot of coffee at one point and consumed most of it herself. She caught and tossed back Lucy's glass with one hand and played random ditties on her side of the piano with the other, still making one-sided conversation with Rorschach. Caffeine helped her mood. Eventually, Lucy and her date decided it was time to head out, and Lucy tossed Jackie her glass one more time before giggling her way out.

There was a pause. "Why was she here?" Rorschach asked the obvious question.

Jackie sighed and rolled her eyes. "I don't know. I've known her since before I could talk. She's my Lucy." She chuckled. "Lucy, in the sky with diamonds." Her tone grew more sombre. "Plus I don't really know anyone but you. The other masks don't count, really. I don't know any of 'em, except for probably Dan." Her fingers, previously playing nothing in particular, began rolling out a rather pathetic version of the Beatles' "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds".

"Hurm."

Jackie laughed. She knew that meant he wasn't sure what to say next. She checked her watch. "It's getting late, you know. You don't have to stick around with little ol' me. Or you can, I don't care." She fumbled on the chorus and replayed it. Looking up at Rorschach, she smiled at his guarded pose. "If you stay, I'm not going to seduce you or anything like that. I'm also not going to try to convince you to stay. That would be pointless."

Rorschach actually seemed to consider it for a moment. "Then I should go."

Jackie nodded. "Okay. And Rorschach?" The vigilante stopped as he was climbing out of the window and silently regarded her. Jackie smiled at him, a little sadly. "Thank you."

As he left, she could almost catch the quiet response, "Of course." But then, it was probably just the wind.

Jackie smiled and turned back to her piano. She wasn't a good singer, but she did so anyway. Her voice was too hoarse when singing, and unless she was playing she was out of tune. But she did so anyway. "_Picture yourself in a boat on a river, with tangerine trees and marmalade skies. Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly; A girl with kaleidoscope eyes."_


End file.
